


United We Stand ...

by Stargon



Series: The Cupboard Series [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, diricawlacademy, thecupboardseries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 08:43:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 114,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14445603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stargon/pseuds/Stargon
Summary: Lord Voldemort has risen. The Minister of Magic is dead. War has been declared. Now is the time for those of the Light to unite, for to do so will give them a chance to stand, to face the Darkness and to survive. For we all know what hapens to those who are divided ...





	1. Chapter 1

“Are you sure you want you do this?”

Harry Potter looked sidewards at the girl whose fingers were interlocked with his own as the two of them walked down the middle of the street.

Hermione was his rock, his anchor and the fact that she had a look of concern and uncertainty on her face made him second-guess their purpose there. Knowing the fact that the two of them, a witch and a wizard, were in the middle of this muggle neighbourhood, where, if the nice, normal everyday people behind the neat, cardboard cut-out homes knew what they were would send them into a panic, made him question his decision.

The fact that those very same people would never know, or be able to tell, was actually some comfort. For, even though Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were magical, they could pass for ‘normal’ in the non-magical world.

They knew how to dress. They knew how to blend in. They even knew to keep their magical wands in the disillusioned holsters strapped to their arms unless it was an emergency.

The reason that the two of them knew how to blend in so well was because neither had known that they were magical until their eleventh birthday. That was when their whole world changed in the guise of a green-inked envelope inviting them to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as students.

That was the start of the most amazing four years of their lives so far.

They’d walked through brick walls into hidden alleys filled with magical shops that sold everything from wands to cauldrons to pet toads. They’d discovered a whole new currency at the great marble bank run by goblins. They’d lived in a magic school hidden inside an ancient castle. Harry had become a Quidditch sports star, a game played on brooms with six goal posts and four balls.

And then there were the people and creatures that they’d met during those four years.

The first magical person that Harry’d met was the half-giant, Hagrid – a more gentle person he’d never met, even if he did have a fixation with large dangerous animals. Currently, Hagrid was living in a dragon preserve in Romania.

The first person that Hermione’d met happened to be their current Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, who had the ability to turn herself into a tabby cat with the barest thought.

Of course, they’d made plenty of friends their own age, too. Their best friend, Neville, had grown up in the magical world and would be as lost out in the non-magical world as Harry and Hermione had been when they’d first entered the magical world. But put him in a greenhouse filled with magical plants that wanted to eat you and he’d be right at home.

Beside the greenhouses back at the manor where their new school used to be housed was an enormous domed area filled with magical creatures. The pride of the school were the pair of diricawl, otherwise known in the non-magical world as ‘dodos’. Then there were the garden gnomes, real life creatures that looked like potatoes; the burrowing nifflers who loved anything that glitters; and all the rest.

Even after all this time, both Harry and Hermione still found so much to be amazed about.

All of that was, obviously, a long, long way from where they currently were, which, incidentally, was on the very street that Harry had grown up on.

This street, Privet Drive by name, in the village of Little Whinging in the district of Surrey, held no good memories for Harry. After his parents had been murdered on that fateful Halloween when he was only fifteen months old, he’d been dumped on the doorstep of his mother’s sister and her husband in the middle of the night.

That was the start of ten long years for Harry, years filled with an unending supply of chores, everything from gardening to cleaning to cooking, all from the age that he could reach or hold the needed utensils. Those years had been incredibly dark, literally so at night, when he’d been locked inside the cupboard under the stairs. That cupboard had been his bedroom until his Hogwarts letter had come.

After that, he’d been moved into his cousin Dudley’s second bedroom, a room full of broken junk where locks had been added to the _outside_ of the door to keep him in unless there were chores to be done.

“Harry?” Hermione prompted, reminding him that she’d asked a question some time ago.

It was then that Harry looked up to see number four, his old home.

The last time that he’d seen it had been at night nearly three years ago. Then, he’d been flying away from it on his broom, all his most prized possessions inside the knapsack on his back and his owl, Hedwig, leading the way.

_That_ had led to the start of the most action-packed years of his life.

He’d discovered his heritage; financed a bookshop cum coffee shop business; battled a sixty-foot basilisk in the depths of the school, along with the shade of the darkest wizard in living memory; blasted his Headmaster into a wall in King’s Cross Station; gone on the run from the law for an entire year; been hit with the killing curse _again_ (and survived, obviously); started a new school; and was a barely a few weeks away from officially being an animagus.

And now he was back.

Not because he wanted to be but because he felt that he owed it to himself and to his mother. He knew that if something happened and he hadn’t done all that he could, he’d never forgive himself. The fact that he was also doing it for his Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and his bullying cousin, Dudley, was something that he was currently ignoring.

Two weeks ago, that same dark wizard that he’d already banished three times now – once as a fifteen month old, and twice at Hogwarts – had returned. Exactly how he’d managed that feat was anyone’s guess, although it had included the death and decapitation of the Minister of Magic.

And in the first act of terror that Lord Voldemort had orchestrated, he’d sent the Minister’s head back with a warning and a threat. A threat that named Harry as one of the ones that he would be targeting. Along with every friend and family member that he had.

The fact that the Dursleys were the only living family that Harry had left had brought him here today. They were at risk of being tortured or killed and they didn’t even know it, let alone have any defence against the magic that dark witches and wizards could bring against them.

“Harry?” Hermione asked for the second time.

He looked at her then, opened his mouth, cleared his throat and finally answered her.

“It’s the right thing to do.”

Neither of them pointed out that that wasn’t exactly an answer to the question that she’d asked.

Hermione nodded and Harry gave the smallest of smiles knowing that Hermione understood him so well.

It was a short, silent walk then that took them from where they were to the front of number four, up the garden path and to standing in front of the door.

Harry paused, momentarily unsure what to do. This had been his home for more than a decade, well, perhaps _home_ was too strong a word, but it was where he’d lived for most of his life.

Then, before he could change his mind, he raised his fist and knocked firmly on the door.

The sound of bustling on the other side of the door immediately preceded the door being opened and the appearance of a horse-faced woman with a neck like a giraffe smiling down at them, a smile that almost instantly morphed into an expression of pure horror mixed with loathing.

“Hello, Aunt Petunia,” Harry quickly said into the silence.

This was obviously the wrong thing to say.

“YOU!” she shrieked, causing the two teens to wince.

Unfortunately, her outburst caused a lumbering walrus to huff into view.

“Hello, Uncle Vernon,” Harry said.

“YOU!” Vernon bellowed, repeating his wife’s accusation, before his beady eyes darted over their shoulders to peer up and down the street and dropping his voice to a menacing hiss.

“You’ve got some nerve coming here, boy! Especially after the state that you left the house in the last time you were here. Do you know how much that cost to get fixed?”

“Um, yeah, I … I wanted to apologise about that,” Harry said, running a nervous hand along the back of his neck.

“Mister and Mrs Dursley, may we come in?” Hermione asked.

Vernon’s eyes snapped to her before raking up and down her body.

“I take it she’s a _freak_ like you?” he accused.

“Hermione is a witch, if that’s what you mean,” Harry answered, the warning clear in his voice.

His Aunt Petunia, though, didn’t seemed phased by it in the slightest.

“We’ll not have people like _you_ inside our house,” she sniffed.

“Have it your way, then,” Harry replied, “but there’s some things that you need to know and I’m not leaving until I’ve told you.”

“Are you certain that this is a conversation that you want held on your porch for all your neighbours to see and hear?” Hermione asked.

Once again, Uncle Vernon’s eyes darted past them to the houses across the street and to either side of them.

“Right, get in, but make it quick,” he ordered. “We’ll not have you here any longer than necessary.”

Grudgingly, the two Dursleys stepped back, allowing Harry and Hermione entry into their home. As soon as the doorway was clear, Harry closed the door and then led Hermione towards the living room where his aunt and uncle had promptly disappeared into.

As he passed the door to the cupboard under the stairs, Harry resolutely stared forward, determined not to acknowledge its existence in the slightest.

The house was as immaculate as Harry remembered. There was no hint of dust anywhere and everything – pictures, knickknacks, and doilies – were in their remembered places. In fact, the only indication that any time had passed at all since Harry had been there were the new pictures of a slightly older Dudley dotting the walls and mantle.

Harry led Hermione to the couch that had been left for them – the two armchairs being appropriated by his aunt and uncle. Even then, Harry only sat on the very edge, as though ready to spring up at a moment’s notice. Tea was neither offered, nor expected.

“Well, say your piece and get out,” Vernon snapped.

“We wouldn’t be here if you weren’t in danger,” Harry began.

“Danger? What danger?” Petunia asked.

“Danger from freaks like you?” Vernon scoffed. “We live perfectly normal lives, thank you very much! If there’s any danger, then it’s you being here that’ll bring it.”

In some way, Harry knew that his uncle was right. But in others, he was dead wrong. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him.

“Where’s Dudley? He really needs to be here to hear this, too.”

“Dudley’s out,” Petunia stated.

“And he doesn’t need to be corrupted by you,” Vernon added.

Knowing his cousin like he did, Harry suspected that he knew where he was. Leaving that issue for later, Harry decided to speak to the one who should at least have a modicum of an idea of the wizarding world.

“Lord Voldemort, the wizard who killed my mum and dad, is back,” Harry told his aunt.

Seeing the colour drain from her face told Harry that she understood.

“Back? What do you mean ‘back’?” Vernon asked, looking between the teens and his wife. “I thought you did away with him before you landed on our doorstep.”

“It’s true, Mister Dursley,” Hermione said. “His followers did something a couple of weeks ago that brought him back.”

Before they’d come, Harry and Hermione had decided not to mention the other two times that Harry had already faced Lord Voldemort.

“He killed our Minister of Magic and gave the wizarding world a message,” Harry continued. “A message that affects you.”

“What message?” Petunia whispered.

“Basically, he named names, the ones who he was specifically targeting, the ones he wants to torture and kill. He also said that he was also going to go after any friends or family of those people, too,” Harry stated darkly.

“I knew it! I knew it!” Vernon growled. “I knew we should have drowned you when you first turned up all those years ago.”

In a flash, Hermione’s wand was in her hand and she was up, advancing on the rotund man who immediately changed his tune and was now cowering before her, his eyes beginning to cross as he stared at the end of the wand.

“You take that back!” Hermione said fiercely. “Harry is one of the bravest and selfless people that I know. And he is so filled with good that he came here today not only to warn you, but to offer you protection. After seeing you, I think he’s wasting his time and should just cut his losses. But that’s not Harry. He’ll always do the right thing, especially for his mother’s sister and her family.”

She glanced back, then.

“Come on, Harry, just give them the portkeys and let’s get out of here.”

“Hermione,” Harry said gently, reaching across to touch the back of his girlfriend’s arm.

With a small nod, she retreated, her wand disappearing back into its holster.

“What … what did she mean by ‘protection’?” Petunia asked, glancing worriedly at Hermione.

In reply, Harry took out two long, thin boxes from his pocket. After checking them, he handed the appropriate one to his aunt and the other to his uncle. Giving Harry a confused look, Petunia opened the box and gasped.

Inside, on the black cloth lining, lay a gold-plated watch. The golden links of its band glittered in the light, as did the exquisite face and hands.

“Vernon!” Petunia whispered.

“I see it, Pet,” Vernon replied, staring disbelievingly at the man’s equivalent of his wife’s watch in the box before him.

“I don’t understand,” Petunia said, looking up at her nephew.

“They’re real watches that could be bought at any respectable jewellers,” Harry began, making sure to emphasise the ‘normalness’ of the watches that they were holding.

“Why would you give these to us?” Vernon asked gruffly. “Must have cost a fortune.”

Harry shrugged. “They did. But I knew that they were something that you’d always wear, and that’s precisely what you need to do if they’re going to protect you.”

“How could a watch protect us?” Vernon asked suspiciously.

“Magic,” Hermione replied simply, making Vernon drop the watch.

Leaning forward, Harry picked the watch back up and placed it on the coffee table between them.

“I’ve had one single enchantment added to them,” Harry explained. “They will act as something called a portkey. Basically, it means that if it is ever activated, it will take you from wherever you are to somewhere safe, even from the other side of the country.”

Petunia’s head seemed to be on a pivot, constantly switching her gaze between the watch and her nephew, someone her look said that she’d never seen before.

“If we’re in danger, this will take us away to safety?” Petunia asked slowly.

“Yes,” Harry replied.

“Did … did _she_ have something like this?” Petunia asked.

“She did,” Harry replied, knowing that they were now talking about one of those taboo subjects that he’d never been allowed to ask about as a child: his mother.

“The difference was,” Hermione picked up, “that Voldemort knew a way to stop it from working. But since you are all … normal, he won’t think to try to stop you because he won’t be expecting you to have this.”

Petunia nodded in understanding.

“What … what makes it, er, work?” Vernon asked, staring at the expensive watch in front of him.

“I’ve made it word activated,” Harry replied. “Unless you say the right word, it’ll never activate and will just be an ordinary watch.”

“What word?” Vernon asked suspiciously.

Reaching into his pocket again, Harry pulled out a piece of paper and handed it over.

“If you say that word – _don’t say it now_ – the watch’ll take you to safety.”

“Exactly where is this place you keep talking about?” Vernon asked, passing the paper across to his wife.

“Potter Island,” Harry said. “There’s a school there and the best defences that can be made.”

“And us,” Hermione added. “We’ll be there, too.”

“Is it a school for … _you lot_?” Vernon asked gruffly. “You know, like the other one.”

“Mostly, yes. Although we also learn some of the same sorts of subjects that Dudley would learn at Smeltings,” Harry replied.

“What about Dudley?” Petunia asked. “Are you going to give him something to keep him safe, too?”

“Yes, I’ve got a watch here for him, too,” Harry said, patting his pocket. “It’ll work with the same word.”

“Well, if your lot are coming, then you better go give it to him,” Vernon said gruffly.

With a nod, Harry stood, Hermione a heartbeat behind him.

“Stay safe, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia,” Harry said.

And, without another word being said, the two teens made their way outside.

They’d hardly reached the walk before Hermione whirled on Harry.

“Those ungrateful sods! You’re trying to protect them and they didn’t even say ‘thank you’,” she groused.

Harry gave her a lopsided grin.

“They kinda did, in their own way,” he said.

“How do you figure that?” Hermione asked, staring back at the house.

“They kept the watches even though they know that they’re magic and told me to give Dudley his,” Harry shrugged.

Hermione stared at him, her mouth opening and closing noiselessly.

“So, how are you going to find your cousin?” she finally asked.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Harry replied. “He’ll be at the park.”

/ ( 0 v 0 ) \

“Which one’s your cousin?” Hermione asked.

She and Harry were currently standing on the very edge of the small Little Whinging park. Most of what was there was in a bad state of disrepair. One of the swings was broken and the other looked to be on its last legs. The slide was mostly bare grey metal and the seesaw was badly bent, causing both ends to lean towards the ground.

But it was the group of kids that had Harry and Hermoine’s attention.

There were eight altogether, six large boys that looked to be about their age, and two smaller ones that the bullies had surrounded in a semicircle. Peering between the two ring-leaders, both massive tubs of fat, Harry saw a boy who looked to be about ten or eleven trying to shield a smaller girl who could only be his sister.

“The giant tub of lard who looks like a pig in a wig in the middle. That’s Dudders,” Harry replied.

Hermione didn’t have time to reply before the gang’s voices’ drifted to them, cutting off their conversation.

“You don’t _really_ think that you can stop us, do you, Marky-boy?” one of the bullies asked in a sing-song-type voice.

“Yeah, come on, Evans. Do the smart thing and hand it over,” the voice Harry identified as Dudley’s ordered.

Harry and Hermione shared a look before, together, they strode forward.

Exactly _what_ they were going to do, Harry wasn’t sure, especially without magic to back them up. What he did know, though, was that he hated bullies and he especially hated the feeling that just seeing this group brought up in him. Every time and every way that Dudley’s gang had chased him and beat him up when they were growing up raced through his mind. And there was no way that he was going to allow them to do that to some little kids.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Together, Harry and Hermione strode across Little Whinging Park towards the scene of bullying that was currently happening. They wouldn’t have even been there if one of the bullies, and one of the main ringleaders if the fact that he was in the centre of the six large boys was anything to go on, wasn’t Harry’s cousin, Dudley Dursley.

Of course, Harry knew each of the other five bullies as well. Intimately. He couldn’t count the number of times that this particular gang had either chased him around the primary school when they were younger, or the number of times that they’d caught him and beaten him up.

It was rare that Harry’d managed to avoid the ‘Harry Hunting’ that he was forced to participate in. Occasionally, he’d sneak into a library, one of the bastions of solitude that the large, oafish boys would never dare to tread foot in. And then there was the time that Harry’d escaped by vanishing from the blind alley that he’d been chased into before appearing on the school roof. Of course, that had only gotten him into even more trouble, especially when his Uncle Vernon had been pulled out of work and had gotten him home.

And now this same gang were showing that they hadn’t changed their ways in the three years since Harry had last seen them. Currently, they had two children, a brother and sister most likely, in their sights.

Neither Harry nor Hermione had been able to make out much about the younger two through the large buffoons half-surrounding them other than the fact that the boy looked to be about ten or eleven and the girl was younger again.

Noticing a long, thick stick on the ground, Harry scooped it up.

Hefting it experimentally, he grinned maliciously. While it was slightly longer and definitely lighter, the stick was remarkably like the swords that he’d been practicing with at Potter Haven.

Every Sunday afternoon for the past year, Sirius had been providing some sword practicing skills. Well, perhaps not _every_ Sunday afternoon, since there’d also been the times that he and his friends had practiced archery instead. Or gone into town. But most Sunday afternoons.

The only problem was the fact that they’d never taken it seriously. Those lessons were more of a continuation of the fun that Harry’d had the year previously when he was at Potter Haven by himself. When the goblins had outfitted the manor, they’d included the large basement-level training room, complete with ancient weapons including swords, knives and bows and arrows.

Sure, Harry now knew which end of a sword was which and even a couple of dozen sword fighting techniques, but he’d never actually envisioned using the skill against another person.

And here he was, well, here he and Hermione were, about to tackle a group larger than themselves _without_ the use of their wands. The concept of learning to defend himself properly in such a situation – both with weapons like swords and in hand to hand combat – had just jumped straight to the top of his list of combat skills that he _needed_ to learn. Especially with Voldemort and his minions out there gunning for him.

“Hey, Big D, ain’t that your cousin?” one of the smaller gang members asked, having turned slightly at their approach.

Harry slowed his steps, carefully watching as the other five bullies lumbered around to look behind them. Harry saw Dudley’s eyes narrow, before widening at the sight of the stick in his hand; at the same time, both his clenched fists flinched backwards as though he was about to clasp his hands over the spot where, once upon a time, he’d had a pig’s tail magically given to him.

“Freak!” he hissed.

Adopting a look of nonchalance, Harry reached out, touching Hermione’s hand, making sure that she, too, was stopped.

“Hey, Dudders, how’s things?” he said.

“Get out of here, Potter,” Dudley’s second in command, Piers, spat. “Or you’ll be next.”

“Ohh, don’t send ’em away,” another, Malcolm, complained. “We ain’t played ‘Harry Hunting’ in ages.”

“You guys really haven’t changed, have you?” Harry asked, intent of keeping the focus on himself as the two youngsters took tentative steps backwards. “And really, I think you’ll find that ‘Harry Hunting’ won’t be as much fun anymore.”

To emphasise his point, Harry gave his stick a vicious wave backwards and forwards.

“Actually, I take that back,” he continued. “I think it’ll be a _lot_ more fun. For me, at least. For you, not so much.”

“You think you can threaten us, Potter?” Piers asked, taking a menacing step forward.

Glancing sidewards, Harry caught Hermione’s eye and flicked his eyes towards the retreating kids. A small nod told him that she’d got his message.

“Yeah, I do,” Harry replied, stepping away from Hermione, taking the bigger boys’ attention with him. “After all, look at ‘Big D’. He’s only said one word since I got here. Obviously recognises his betters.”

“There ain’t nothing better about you, Freak!” Dudley countered. “You really think that stick is going to keep you from a beating.”

Harry looked down at the stick before looking straight at his cousin, a feral grin plastered on his face. “This? Who knows _what_ I could do with it. I bet I could show you a thing or two that’d seem like _magic_ to you.”

The way Dudley’s face instantly turned white told Harry that he’d gotten the message, albeit a completely false message.

“But if you think you’re good enough, bring it on,” Harry challenged.

But while he’d managed to cow Dudley, scaring the others was a completely different barrel of flobberworms. Piers, Malcolm and two of the others immediately advanced on him. Now it was _him_ being the one in the semicircle of thugs, a situation that brought back a whole host of bad memories.

Harry took a fraction of second to check on Hermione. She’d taken off, rounding Dudley and Warren and looked to be on an intercept course with the two younger children.

The slight turn of Piers’ head forced Harry’s hand. With a deliberate step forward, he swung the large stick upwards and across. Malcolm jumped backwards, avoiding Harry’s swipe. Unfortunately for his friend, he took the brunt of Harry’s attack. With a _swip_ , the stick swished across the smaller boy’s face, whipping his head sidewards and spinning him about until he dropped to his hands and knees.

Feeling the advance of the two on his blind side, Harry spun about. The sword-like stick between them halted them and Harry grinned as they shared a look between them. Then, utilizing some of Sirius’ tutelage, Harry stepped forward, jabbing at one and then the other.

The first caught the stick in his stomach, bending him nearly double. It took a further half-dozen jabs combined with swipes at the boy’s legs, head and arms before he managed to land a hit. Harry’s weapon emitted a distinct _crack_ when he swept the boy’s legs out from under him.

With three of the boys now a lot more wary of him and holding various parts of their body, Harry turned his attention to the last and most dangerous of the four: Piers.

“You think you’re somethin’ special with that, don’t ya?” Peirs taunted, both fists raised in front of his body.

“Well, yeah, I kinda do,” Harry grinned back.

A quick scan of the surrounding area sent his heart-rate racing – neither Hermione, the kids or Dudley and Warren were anywhere in sight. And while he was sure that Hermione could take care of herself, that didn’t mean that he was willing to leave her to face Dudley by herself.

Spinning the stick in his hand, Harry adopted the fiercest expression that he could.

“Just leave, Piers,” he said. “No one else needs to get hurt here.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t ya?” Piers shot back, unaware that behind him, his three buddies were slowly backing away.

“Well, yeah, I would,” Harry replied. “You’re simply not worth my time. You’ve seen what I can do, how I took out your three goons. Now, if you really want a go, then we’ll do this. But I’m betting that you don’t. This isn’t the same as it was when we were kids; I’ve learnt a lot while I’ve been gone. Can you say the same?”

To emphasise his point, Harry slowly began walking forward, casually swinging the sword-like stick around his hand.

It only took three steps before Piers dropped his hands.

“Fine, Freak, fine. I’ll give you this one. But if we ever see you here again, we’ll give you a beating that’ll make ‘Harry Hunting’ look like a walk in the park. Come on, guys, let’s go find Big D.”

And with that, Piers, trying to look like he was still in charge, began shoving his friends forward. With only the occasional backward glance, the four of them quick-stepped out of the park.

The second that they were out of sight, Harry dropped the stick and took off in the direction that he’d last seen Hermione headed in.

-oOoOo-

Seeing the six boys surrounding the two smaller children had brought back a whole host of bad memories for Hermione, not that her childhood had ever been quite like that – girls, after all, preferred more … verbal means of bullying and intimidation.

But she’d willingly followed Harry’s lead to confront his cousin and his gang. Seeing Harry pick up a long stick from the ground and swing it around like a sword gave her a little more hope that they weren’t simply walking into a dangerous situation unprepared. Oh, she knew that the two of them could easily take the six boys using magic, but that had to be a last resort – the Statute of Secrecy was _not_ something that she wanted to be accused of breaking, let alone actually break it.

Harry’s eye-flick was easy for her to interpret: he’d draw off the bullies so that she could check that the kids were okay.

The instant that Harry started talking and stepping away from her, Hermione took off.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one to follow the younger two; Hermione noticed that both Harry’s cousin and one of the other boys had also begun lumbering after them. Fortunately, they were both much slower, allowing Hermione to draw away from them and closer to the kids.

But her big disadvantage, she found as she raced past a set of swings and ducked under the monkey bars, was the fact that she didn’t know the area. The instant that the kids ducked in amongst some trees, she had no idea where to go. All she could do was follow as best as she could.

Unfortunately, she could hear Dudley and his friend crashing through the branches off somewhere to her right, most likely on an intercept course.

Hermione increased her pace, ducking under branches when she could, slapping others out of the way, and wincing whenever she felt her hair getting snagged. Occasionally, she caught glimpses of the two kids she was following – a flash of red or yellow that could only be their shirts.

“Ha ha ha, you idiots trapped yourselves,” Hermione heard one of the boys laugh. “Give up, Evans, there’s no escaping.”

Hermione slapped the last branch out of the way, only to come to a skidding halt.

In front of her was a small grassy clearing, with trees surrounding it on three sides and a wooden fence on the fourth. Pressed up against the fence were the two kids that she’d been following, their faces full of fear as the two boys, Dudley and his friend, slowly advanced on them.

“Leave them alone!” she stated, drawing their attention on to herself.

“Ooh, look, it’s the Freak’s girlfriend,” Dudley said, looking her up and down and making her feel as though she’d just had a bucket of mud poured all over her.

“Leave her, Big D, she’s nothing,” the other said. “She ain’t even got a stick like the Freak.”

Hermione saw Dudley’s face pale and she decided to capitalize on it.

“Maybe I should get my stick out. What do you think, Dudley?” she said.

Ever so slowly, she began edging her way around the side of the clearing in the hope of reaching the two kids who were still huddled against the fence.

She hadn’t gone far, though, when the unexpected happened. It wasn’t until much later when she was able to replay the scene in her head that Hermione was able to piece together exactly what had happened.

Dudley had taken a step towards her while his friend began advancing on the kids. That’s when the two kids had suddenly disappeared by falling backwards through a hole in the fence. A hole that hadn’t been there just second before. A hole made from half a dozen of the palings simply disappearing.

At the time, Hermione had panicked, thinking that she’d just done some accidental magic, regardless of the fact that she hadn’t felt any magic leave her body, nor had she performed accidental magic in years.

Upon hearing the crash of the two kids falling, Dudley had looked back, whimpered, for some reason clutched his bottom, and promptly keeled over, landing with a massive thud on the hard ground. His friend had taken a different tactic: screaming in such a high-pitched voice that Hermione didn’t even think that _she_ could reach such notes, before turning tail and racing from the clearing.

The fact that that had all happened in the time that it took Hermione to blink meant that she stood frozen in place, trying to analyse exactly what had happened. The whimper of a small person on the other side of the fence cleared her mind and she rushed forward.

Sticking her head through the hole created by the missing palings, Hermione gasped. She’d just come face to face with two pairs of the greenest emerald eyes that she’d only ever seen on one person before in her life.

“Are you two alright?” she asked.

She was distracted from their answer by the sound of someone crashing through the trees somewhere behind her. Fearing that it was one or more of Dudley’s gang looking for them, Hermione spun back around. The fact that it was a dishevelled, panicked-looking Harry that burst from the trees, caused her to let out a shaky breath of air.

“Harry,” she called.

Harry only spared his cousin a curious glance as he passed the great lump still lying flat out on the ground as he crossed to her. Immediately, the two of them wrapped each other in a massive hug.

“Are you alright?” she heard him ask.

“Yeah, I’m fine. You?” she returned.

“I’m good,” Harry replied, pushing away from her to look her over.

“I told you, I’m fine,” she repeated. “They didn’t lay a hand on me.”

“Good. The kids?” he asked.

Hermione turned about, waving one hand at the hole in the fence.

“Through there,” she said.

Together, the two of them stuck their heads through the fence to see the two now sitting on the grass beyond the fence and eyeing the two of them warily.

“Hey, are you alright?” Harry asked. “Those idiots didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“N-no,” the boy said, shaking his head., making his brown hair appear as though it had a reddish tinge to it in the shifting light.

“Excellent. Come on out of there and we’ll walk you home,” Harry said.

When they pulled back, it was to hear a groan coming from behind them. Seeing his cousin beginning to sit up, Harry strode across to him.

“Come on, Duds, up you get,” Harry said, hauling on his cousin’s arm in an attempt to get the larger boy on his feet.

Hermione watched as Harry held on to the swaying boy, a puzzled expression on his face.

Suddenly, Dudley caught sight of the two youngsters emerging through the fence and his face paled and he began backing up, one arm pointing shakily at the kids.

“Th-they … they’re like … they’re like _you_ ,” Dudley stuttered. “F-fr-freaks.”

“I’ll explain in a minute,” Hermione said to Harry’s confused look.

“Look, Dud, I think you’d best head home,” Harry said. Suddenly, he slapped his pocket before pulling out a box. “Hang on, I’ve got something for you.”

“I’m not taking something freakish from you!” Dudley said, yanking his arm free and backing away.

“It’s not freakish,” Harry countered. “Well … forget it, your parents can explain. And your dad said that I could give it to you. He’s got one as well.”

“What is it?” Dudley asked warily.

“A watch,” Harry told him, opening the box to show him. “Here, it’s yours. Put it on and show it to your parents. They’ll explain everything.”

“If this is some kind of freak trick …,” Dudley warned.

“What, you’ll faint on us again?” Hermione asked, barely managing to contain her laughter.

“Just take it, Dud,” Harry insisted.

After a few moments where Dudley seemed to be warring with himself, one meaty hand closed over the box. The box was shoved into a pocket as he slowly began backing away. As soon as Dudley reached the trees, he turned and began lumbering through them, the sound of his crashing lasting for the next few minutes.

“Are you sure that you two are alright?” Harry asked, turning back to the kids.

“Yeah,” the boy said. “Did you … did you know him?”

“My cousin,” Harry nodded. “He and his mates used to enjoy chasing me around here and beating me up whenever they caught me.”

“They’re bullies, everyone says so, but no one’s ever stood up to them before,” the girl piped up.

“Well, you tell everyone that we did,” Hermione said, dropping to one knee in front of them. “You tell them that we did and maybe others will have the courage to do so, too.”

“What’s your names?” Harry asked. “I’m Harry and this is my girlfriend, Hermione.”

“I’m Mark. Mark Evans,” the boy said. “And this is my sister, Melody.”

Hermione saw Harry’s eyes widen. He shook his head then and turned to Hermione.

“What was Dudders going on about?” he asked.

Hermione gestured to the hole in the fence. “ _This_ just appeared. Almost like _magic_.”

“Really?” Harry asked, his eyes flicking backwards and forwards between the fence and the kids. “You said that your last name is Evans?”

“Y-es,” Mark answered slowly.

“You’re not thinking …,” Hermione began, her eyes widening at the connections that her brain was making between the way Harry was acting, what she knew of him, and the accidental magic that she’d witnessed.

“I don’t know,” Harry cut her off. “For now, I think it would be best if we accompanied Mark and Melody home. I think that there’s a few things that we need to talk to their parents about.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Mum! Dad!” an excitable Mark Evans yelled as he burst through the front door of his house.

His sister, Melody, was close behind him, also yelling for her parents.

Harry and Hermione brought up the rear, sharing identical grins with each other at the younger two’s antics.

Hurst Street was two streets over from the Little Whinging Park in the opposite direction from Privet Drive. The walk there had been fairly sedate, it was only when they came within sight of number twelve that the younger two had taken off, leaving the older two to continue their walk hand-in-hand behind them.

“Mark? Melody?” a female voice called back.

By the time that Harry and Hermione had reached the front steps of the two-story house, Mark and Melody had surrounded a slim, brunette woman who was looking backwards and forwards between the pair, an exasperated expression on her face.

“Hold up, you two,” a deep voice laughed. “Going a mile a minute like that at the same time means that your mother can’t understand a word that you’re saying.”

A brown-haired man’s head popped out of a nearby room.

“Now, how about you try it one at a time?” he suggested. He paused then and swivelled his head towards the still open front door. “Oh, hello.”

“Hi,” Harry replied.

Melody bounced back down the hallway then, before grabbing Harry and Hermione’s hands that weren’t holding each other’s hands and tugged the two into the house.

“That’s Harry and Hermione,” Mark introduced. “They helped us out with some bullies at the park.”

“Bullies?” Mrs Evans gasped, her hand momentarily covering her mouth before she grabbed her son’s shoulders and spun him around, her eyes searching him up and down, obviously checking for injuries.

Mister Evans moved fully into the hallway, giving a nod to the two teens in his doorway.

“Whatever you did, thank you,” he said. “How about you come in so that we can hear all about it?”

“Thank you, Sir,” Hermione replied, although their entry never was in doubt, not with a persistent Melody tugging at them.

They allowed themselves to be pulled further into the house and then into the living room along with the rest of the family.

The Evans house was built not unlike the house on Privet Drive that Harry’d grown up in, he decided. There was a set of stairs leading to the second level approximately where he expected it to be and pictures of the family lining the walls. But unlike the Dursleys’ home, those pictures reflected the fact that four people lived there. As Harry passed by, he couldn’t help but notice the vivid emerald green eyes that shone out of three of those four faces.

The living room was a much cosier place than the show-room quality room that Harry’s Aunt Petunia kept her living room in. The sofa and two arm-chairs had cushions and throw-rugs haphazardly lying on them; the coffee table had a number of rings on it, only somewhat covered by the half dozen books on top of it. The television unit was bracketed by a pair of tall bookcases, filled with books of all sizes either standing up or lying in groups on their sides.

“Can we get you something to drink?” Mrs Evans asked. “Tea or soft drink, perhaps?”

“I’ll have a tea, thank you,” Hermione replied. “Milk, no sugar.”

Harry grinned at his girlfriend. You could take the girl away from her parents, but the dentists’ influence, it seemed, was here to stay.”

“I’ll have a tea as well,” he said. “Milk with one, please.”

“I haven’t seen the two of you around here before,” Mister Evans said, “not that that means much, we only moved here six months ago. I take it you live on the other side of town?”

“I used to live here,” Harry replied, “with my aunt and uncle, but I, uh, I moved out a couple of years ago.”

“Just back to visit the family, huh?” Mister Evans said.

“Something like that,” Harry replied.

“This is my first time in Little Whinging,” Hermione said. “I just came with Harry.”

“Here we are,” Mrs Evans said, entering the living room with a large silver tray in her hands.

Once the tray was deposited on the quickly cleared away coffee table and everyone had been served, Mister Evans leant forward on his chair.

“Now, how about you tell us what happened?” he said, looking at his two children sitting on the floor.

“We went to the park first, just like we said,” Mark began. “But when we got there, there were a group of boys already there.”

“How many?” Mister Evans asked.

“Six,” Melody piped up.

“They were all older than us and heaps bigger,” Mark said, causing Harry to snort in amusement.

“That lot haven’t been small for a decade or so,” he said.

“I take it you know these boys?” Mister Evans asked.

“Yeah, I know them,” Harry replied flatly.

It looked as though Mister Evans was going to ask more about that, but instead, he turned to his children.

“Go on,” he said, “what happened next?”

“They were hogging the swings and slide so we decided to go to the shop and get our ice-creams first and _then_ come back to the park,” Mark said. “We were hoping that they’d be gone by the time we got back.

“But they must have heard us talking ’cause they jumped up and surrounded us, and told us to give them our money or they’d beat us up.”

“That’s when Harry and Hermione came,” Melody beamed, bouncing slightly where she sat.

The eyes of the senior Evans flicked to the two teens before settling back on their children.

“It was brilliant, Dad!” Mark exclaimed. “Harry had this stick that he used like a sword and he distracted them and as soon as he did, we ran away.”

“Well done, that’s exactly what you should have done in that situation,” Mister Evans stated.

“But two of them followed us,” Melody said, taking up the story. “They had us trapped against a fence. But Hermione came and then the fence _disappeared_ and we fell through it and by the time that we got back up again, the big boys had gone and Harry and Hermione were there and then they walked us home.”

Harry could only stare at the small girl. He was sure that she’d said all of that in the one breath and he had no idea that it was possible to say so much so fast like that.

“The fence disappeared?” Mrs Evans repeated sceptically.

“Yeah, Mum, it did,” Mark replied.

“Well, whatever happened, at least none of you were hurt,” Mister Evans said. “Harry, Hermione, thank you so much for looking out for these two. I dread to think what could have happened.”

“It was our pleasure,” Hermione replied.

Harry nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I know what that lot are like. I wouldn’t want anyone being caught by them.”

Mister Evans’ eyes narrowed.

“Would I be right in thinking that they used to catch you when you were younger and lived here?” he asked.

Harry’s eyes darted about before his head lowered slightly. “Yeah. Yeah, you could say that.”

“What are their names?” Mister Evans asked, his voice hard and angry. “I think that I might have to have a talk with their parents.”

“Big D,” Mark said. “One of them was called, ‘Big D’.”

“That’d be Dudley,” Harry sighed. “Dudley Dursley. My cousin.”

“Dursley,” Mister Evans mused. “I know that name.”

Suddenly, he clicked his fingers.

“My cousin married a bloke with that name. Big fellow with a moustache. Looked like a walrus,” he said.

Harry laughed. “That’s what I’ve always thought that he looked like as well.”

“Hang on, did you say that this Dudley was your _cousin_?” Mister Evans asked.

“Yeah. Dudley Dursley, son of Vernon and Petunia Dursley, My aunt and uncle,” Harry said.

“Petunia! She’s _my_ cousin!” Mister Evans exclaimed and he was now so far forward on his chair that Harry was sure that he was about to fall out of it.

“Harry, who are your parents?” Mrs Evans asked quietly.

Harry shared a brief look with Hermione before answering.

“James Potter and Lily Evans,” he replied.

“Lily,” Mister Evans breathed. “I haven’t seen her for, what, fifteen, sixteen years, I suppose.”

“Is Harry our cousin?” Mark asked.

“In basic terms, I suppose he is,” Mister Evans replied. “Let’s see. Lily and Petunia are my cousins and Harry is Lily’s son. So that would make Harry and I first cousins once removed? Something like that anyway. You guys would be second cousins once removed, at least I think that’s how it works.”

He shook his head, then, before fixing Harry with an intense look. “How is Lily?”

“Mum … Mum and Dad died when I was one,” Harry replied quietly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Harry. I didn’t know,” Mister Evans replied. “I kind of lost touch with the Evans side of the family after your grandfather died. That was where I last saw your Mum, at the funeral. He and my Dad were brothers, you see. And I never did get on with Petunia. And somehow I just lost touch with your Mum. At least now I understand why.”

“We did wonder if Mark and Harry might be related,” Hermione said. “Between the Evans name and those eyes …”

“Yes, yes, I see what you mean,” Mrs Evans said. “It’s the same emerald green, isn’t it? I’ve never seen it on anyone outside of the Evans family before.”

But as Harry looked up at his newly discovered cousin, he could see one other unexpected family resemblance. It seemed that Mark, Melody and Mister Evans all had hair that, when it was in the shade, appeared brown, but if the sunlight hit it at just the right angle, a hint of red shone through, not unlike the red that he’d seen in photos of his mum.

“Well, Harry,” Mister Evans said, jumping up and across the room, his hand extended. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

Harry stood, a smile on his face as he grasped the man’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Sir.”

“Sir? None of that, we’re cousins! Call me Mike. And this is Susan,” Mike said.

“Well, now we’re doubly glad that you helped out our two today,” Susan smiled.

“Actually, there was one other thing that we wanted to talk to you about,” Hermione said hesitantly, before looking at Harry, her bottom lip caught in her teeth.

Harry caught Hermione’s hint; she wanted _him_ to explain to them about magic. And really, it made sense – they were his family, not to mention the fact that, as an emancipated adult, he was less likely to get into trouble for talking to non-magicals about magic than she was.

“It relates to that part about the fence disappearing,” Harry began. “Has … has anything else happened in the past? Anything unusual around either Mark or Melody?”

Mike and Susan blinked before looking at each other before turning to look at the two children seated on the floor.

“No, not really,” Mike said.

“That’s not quite true,” Susan countered. “Remember that time we tried to take a photo of Mark wearing that ghastly jumper my aunt had sent him to put in the thank-you note? The thing seemed to get smaller and smaller every time I tried to get it over his head until it was simply too small for him to wear.”

“I had something like that happen to me when I was younger,” Harry admitted.

“Does that weird way Melody’s cot used to keep getting filled up with her bear collection, even though we were sure that we’d left them all on the rocking chair count?” Mike asked.

Harry and Hermione shared a look.

“That counts,” Harry stated.

“I’m sure that if you think hard enough that there would be other instances, and probably even some that Mark and Melody haven’t told you about, but that’ll do to get the idea,” Hermione said.

“Our family has a … history of strange things happening,” Harry said cautiously. “And there’s a reason for that. You see, a number of generations ago, the Evans’ were a part of the Lomas family and the Lomas family had a special gift.”

“What sort of special gift?” Susan asked, her eyes narrowed at the two teens.

“Magic,” Harry stated bluntly. “They could do magic.”

“Magic! You expect us to believe that?” Susan asked.

“It’s true,” Hermione said. “Harry can do it, as can I?’

“Can we see?” Melody piped up, once again bouncing where she sat.

With a flick of his wrist, Harry released his holly wand into his hand.

“ _Wingardium leviosa,_ ” he incanted.

Instantly, the coffee table began to slowly rise into the air, making both Mark and Melody clap and the two parents to collapse backwards into their chairs. After lowering the table, Harry decided to do one more spell, for demonstration purposes, of course.

“ _Draconifors_ ,” he said, levelling his wand at the sugar tongs.

Seconds later, a small silver dragon was standing on the coffee table. It slowly turned around before eyeing the bowl of sugar cubes. Then, with its wings half unfurled, it rushed across the table and snatched up one of the cubes in its mouth before beginning to bite into it.

“Brilliant!” Mark exclaimed. “Can we keep it?”

Harry laughed. “No. Dragons don’t make the best pets, not even ones this size. Besides, I’m sure that your mum would like her tongs back.”

So saying, Harry reversed the transfiguration, leaving the tongs once more in pristine condition, even if they weren’t quite in the same place that they’d been before.

“Magic … magic’s _real_?” Mike gasped.

“Yep,” Harry grinned. “And from what you’ve said, I’d say that both Mark and Melody will be able to do that and a whole lot more.”

“Where can we get a wand?” Melody asked. “That is a wand, right? A magic wand?”

“Yes, it’s a magic wand,” Hermione replied, “and you’ll be able to get your own from a special store in a magical shopping alley in London. But not until you’re the right age.”

“What age? How old do I have to be?” Melody asked.

“Magical education usually starts when you’re eleven,” Hermione replied.

“I’m nearly eleven,” Mark stated. “I’ll be eleven on the second of August.”

Harry nodded. “That’s when you’d usually be told about magic. I got my letter given to me by a half-giant.”

“Letter?” Mike asked.

“Giant?” Susan gasped.

“Hagrid’s alright,” Harry grinned. “That’s his name, Rubeus Hagrid. He was the gamekeeper at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A really nice bloke. But he’s left there, now; joined a dragon preserve in Romania.”

“And the letter that Harry mentioned is what is given to all magicals in Britain, inviting them to magic school,” Hermione said.

“Are Petunia and Dudley magical, too?” Mike asked.

Harry snorted in amusement. “Those two? Not on your life! My Mum was, though. She went to Hogwarts for seven years, learning how to control and perform all sorts of magic.”

“So … so Mark and Melody are going to get a … a letter inviting them to a magic school?” Susan asked.

“They will,” Harry confirmed. “They’ll get one from Hogwarts, just like me and my Mum. But Hogwarts isn’t the only magic school in Britain anymore.”

“It’s not?” Mike asked. “Where can we find out about them? We’ll want to know all about the different schools before deciding which one to send them to.”

“I take it that they have to go?” Susan asked.

“Well, it’s not strictly necessary,” Harry replied.

“But it _is_ beneficial,” Hermione countered. “Learning how to control the magic inside them is incredibly important. And, while you can get tutors to teach you, it’s best that they attend a school, to help them learn about the culture that they’ll be entering.”

“Culture?” Susan asked.

“Yes,” Hermione nodded. “It was a bit of a shock to both me and my parents as well. I’m like Mark and Melody. Until Professor McGonagall turned up on my doorstep, we didn’t know about magic either. But there’re thousands of magical people just in Britain alone, all with schools and businesses and a government and a police force and everything. Not to mention the different magical creatures and animals and other magical peoples, like the goblins, centaurs and merpeople.”

For a couple of minutes, both Mike and Susan sat in stunned silence, although every now and again, one or the other would open their mouth to ask a question. Mike, though, was the first to recover.

“Tell me more about these schools?” he asked. “You mentioned this Hogwarts place, what others are there? Susan and I are both high school teachers, you see, so we know a thing or two about schools.”

Harry grinned at Hermione, a grin that he was sure that she interpreted correctly.

“Well, Hogwarts is an old school, over a thousand years old,” Hermione began. “It’s in Scotland and located in a castle.”

“Cool!” Mark exclaimed. “A castle! Does it have ghosts and secret passages and stuff like that?”

“Yep,” Harry grinned. “All of that.”

“The other school is Diricawl Academy of Magical Studies,” Hermione broke in. “It’s only new, actually this coming year will be its first proper year as a school. It did have fourteen students last year, but this year it moves to a new location and will be taking in a lot more students.”

“Diricawl has a lot more subjects on offer compared to Hogwarts as well,” Harry said. “Including a bunch of non-magical subjects which Hogwarts doesn’t offer, like English, maths and science, everything to help magical students pass their A-levels as well as get a well-rounded magical education.”

“Sounds to me as though you two prefer this Diricawl place,” Mike commented.

“Well, we do,” Harry admitted. “We’re two of the fourteen students that it had last year and we both learnt of lot more than we would have than if we’d stayed at Hogwarts.”

“What Harry isn’t saying,” Hermione interrupted, “is that Diricawl grew out of an idea that Harry had and that last year it was based out of one of Harry’s houses and that from now on, it’ll be located on an island off the Welsh coast that Harry owns.”

Both Mike and Susan stared at him.

“Exactly how rich are you?” Susan asked.

“Rich enough,” Harry shrugged. “Inherited most of it from Dad’s side of the family.”

“I want to go to school with Harry and Hermione,” Mark piped up.

“We’ll see,” his Dad replied. “Say, if you own the place, what’s the chance that we could have a tour so that we can find out more about this school to help us decide if it’s the best place for our kids.”

“And perhaps we could even meet some of the teachers?” Susan suggested.

Harry grinned at his new-found cousins. “You know; I was hoping that you’d ask that.”


	4. Chapter 4

Riddle Manor was an old, old house. Once upon a time, it had held generations of Riddles, the gentry of the Greater Hangleton area. They had owned much of the land between the two small townships of Greater Hangleton and Lesser Hangleton and people would come to them to solve their problems or to ask for help with their businesses.

And then, about fifty years ago, the last of the Riddles had died in mysterious circumstances. All three – Lord and Lady Riddle and their son, Thomas – had died on the same night with nary a clue as to their demise. One day they had been alive, the next, dead. There was no mark on their body and nothing that the constabulary of the time could find to mark as a cause of death. The only noteworthy thing that could be said about their deaths was the looks of surprise that the bodies wore.

Some, indeed most, said that the old caretaker, Frank, was to blame. But there was never any evidence, let alone a motive to link him to the murder. Still, the man had been shunned by the community, not that he let it get to him, he simply continued to perform his duty, caring for the manor day after day, month after month, year after year.

That was, of course, until he himself was murdered in identical circumstances. Not that anyone yet knew about his murder. While Frank hadn’t been seen around the Hangleton area lately, his disappearance was simply put down to the strange old man staying close to the only home that he’d known for most of his life.

The reason for old Frank’s demise was currently sitting in the manor’s downstairs study. By right of birth, he had every right to be there, after all, it was his father and grandparents who had once owned the manor and grounds, not that he’d ever admit to that fact.

No, Lord Voldemort had long since discarded his muggle heritage, taking forevermore his new and preferred nom de plume.

At the moment he was waiting. Waiting for his followers. Once, not so long ago, he had hundreds at his command. And that wasn’t adding in the various creatures and beasts that had aligned with his regime. They all had their uses. Uses that he, as their Lord, would be sure that they performed before he dealt with them, too.

Each and every follower at his command had been branded to his cause, they’d given oaths and pledged their lives and magic to him and him alone. They had waged war on magical Britain, on the short-sighted blood traitors who believed that all were equal. Their final lesson was within his very grasp – days or at most a couple weeks away – when everything went pear-shaped.

Potter.

It all boiled down to Potter. Potter and that blasted prophecy. If he hadn’t acted so rashly, then everything would have been different. He could have solidified his reign over magical Britain and then sent his most trusted lieutenants to deal with the brat. But in his eagerness and arrogance to do it all himself, he’d lost everything.

Well, not quite everything, but almost. He himself had lost his body, condemned to wander the Earth as a spirit for over a decade, living off of the life force of the lowliest animals. His followers had scattered, either being rounded up and sent to Azkaban or gone to ground, pretending that they’d been ‘imperius-ed’.

But now, finally, he’d returned.

He had a body once more. And while it wasn’t as powerful as he was expecting, it was one that could perform magic. And what few followers he still retained had returned to him.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and Lord Voldemort looked up.

“Enter,” he called.

With a creak worthy of this old, abandoned manor, the door was opened and one by one, his followers shuffled into the room. He watched them, searching for any sign of anything untoward in them. Luckily for them, he saw nothing. Oh, there was nervousness aplenty, as there surely should be. Wariness, too. And a hint of fear. All to the good.

Finally, the last of them had filed in and they had spread out in a semicircle around him, lining the walls of the room.

Thirty. That was all that had responded to his summons a couple of weeks ago. And unfortunately, they weren’t thirty of his best and brightest. No, his very best were either dead or locked in Azkaban.

Lord Voldemort rose from his chair and paced before them, seeing through their silver skull masks to the men hiding behind them.

Crabbe and Goyle had resumed their places to either side of Lucius, his most desperate of followers. Unfortunately, neither Crabbe nor Goyle had two brain cells to rub together between them. But they were muscle and good at what they did, even if they did require more specific instructions than most.

Yaxley and MacNair were further along. Both had retained and even improved their standing within the Ministry. Their contacts and knowledge could be extremely useful, as their appetite for violence was.

Alecto and Amycus Carrow were always useful for a bit of mayhem, as was Avery and Nott.

And then there was Severus Snape. The potions master was a key component of his Death Eaters. His ability to concoct even the most difficult of potions was needed, especially healing potions for the inevitable wounds that his followers were sure to sustain in battle. Unfortunately, his many long years at the side of the old fool made the man suspect at best.

Lord Voldemort vowed to keep a close eye on that one until he could determine exactly where the man’s loyalties lay.

“Welcome, Death Eaters,” Lord Voldemort purred as he came to stand in the exact centre of the room.

Every eye was on him, just as he liked it. At the sound of his voice, one or two shuffled nervously but a quick glance in their direction was enough to have them still their movements.

“We are few in number, but we are powerful,” he continued. “Together, we have the potential to be unstoppable. That is, of course, if you perform to the same standards that you once did. Perhaps your skills have lapsed, become rusty in my absence. Perhaps some of you have lost that taste for violence, for blood that you once had.”

“No, no, my Lord.”

Protests sounded throughout the room like music to his ears. Lord Voldemort cocked his head, tasting their statements on the air in an attempt to determine how much they meant it.

“We shall see,” he hissed.

“The sheep of wizarding Britain know of our return,” he said. “That was not my original plan, but when the head of the Minister of Magic had been handed to me on a platter, how could I resist giving it back to the people who had elected him?

“But because of that action, the magicals of Britain know of our return. They know and remember. They remember what life was like when I once disseminated the ideals of the pureblood way through you and your brethren. They remember the deaths and dismemberments and disappearances of the muggles, the mud-bloods and the blood traitors and they tremble in their beds. They know that true might has returned and they are powerless to stop it.

“Regardless of this, some will try.”

“They will fail!” a voice to his left called out.

“Indeed they will, Selwyn,” Lord Voldemort nodded. “Try they will. It is your job to rob them of their will and hope. To crush their spirits and to destroy their resolve. To that end, I have missions for each of you.”

“We’re ready, my Lord,” Lucius said, emphasising his point with a bow.

“Good. Good,” Lord Voldemort replied.

He paced among them, then, deciding how much to impart to these few that remained to him. If only his old Inner Circle was with him …

“Our ultimate aim is to purge magical Britain of the filth, both those of inferior blood and those of inferior ideas,” he said. “Only when magical Britain is firmly under our control can the pureblood ideals once more hold dominance in the land. The Ministry will fall; Hogwarts, too. Once those two great bastions belong to us, every other magical enclave will bow to us: Hogsmeade; Diagon Alley; Saint Mungo’s, all of them.”

“What of the new school? Diricawl?” an eager voice asked.

Lord Voldemort turned a predatory smile on the speaker.

“It will not only fall, Diricawl Academy of Magical Studies will be _obliterated_. Nothing of it will remain. Not the buildings. Not the teachers. Not the students. And the land itself will become a barren wasteland. This I decree for their arrogance in believing that they are better than Hogwarts and our very culture and way of life.”

Malicious chuckles echoed around the room at his proclamation.

“But that is a longer term goal,” Lord Voldemort stated. “Before we can launch our attack on them, there are a few requirements that must be attended to first.

“Yaxley, MacNair. I want the two of you to scour the Ministry for information on this _school_. Find out everything you can. If you can get yourself into it to scout it out, all the better.”

“Yes, my Lord,” the two men replied.

“We will also need to boost our numbers. Nott. I want you to seek out Greyback. Find him and convince him to join his werewolves with us. Together we can provide them with much sport.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Nott replied.

“Lucius, my slippery friend,” he said, turning to the man caressing his new silver hand. “I want you to tap into your many informants and connections. Find us a way into Azkaban. The Dementors there are potential allies, but we must get to them to offer them food in return for joining us. And too long have our brethren laid chained within the walls of Azkaban. It’s time to bring them home.”

“As you command, my Lord,” Lucius replied.

“Amycus, Alecto. I want the two of you to take everyone else except for Crabbe and Goyle. Divide yourselves into teams and strike fear into the populace. Target the muggles, mudbloods and blood-traitors. I’m sure that I don’t need to tell you what I want of you.”

“No, my Lord,” said Alecto.

“It shall be our pleasure, my Lord,” Amycus replied.

“And once you have done that, find me some new recruits, some young blood willing to do what is necessary for the pureblood cause. Our numbers are far too small and we need to remedy that.”

“What of us, my Lord?” Goyle asked.

“Yes. Crabbe and Goyle. I have a special mission for you,” Lord Voldemort stated. “You will both accompany me. We have a very special person to visit. And a Wizengamot election to ensure the outcome of.”

-oOoOo-

“Good morning, Mister Yaxley,” the young woman behind the counter said as he walked through the door.

Yaxley nodded at her before raking his eyes over the Department of Magical Education. The small waiting area was vacant, as was the long corridor that led off towards the back offices. Whether or not there was anyone in any of those offices, Yaxley had no way of knowing. Not that it mattered, he could do what he needed to do in the blink of an eye.

As he approached the counter and the waiting girl, Yaxley allowed his wand to drop into his hand.

“ _Imperio!”_ he hissed.

Instantly, the girl’s eyes turned glassy and her face went slack. Yaxley smiled to himself. It was always so easy to get people to do exactly what he wanted. And he was sure that this girl could provide him with quite a number of services. Unfortunately, he hadn’t the time to indulge himself, especially not while on a vital mission given to him personally by the Master.

“Find all of the records for Diricawl Academy of Magical Studies,” he instructed. “Make a copy of those records and then give me those copies.”

Without even acknowledging her orders, the girl turned and trotted off down the corridor. Yaxley watched as she disappeared into the door second on the right. As the time that she was gone began to increase, his foot began tapping. Finally, she emerged, only to then disappear into a second door.

This time, she was much quicker. When he next saw her, he allowed the corners of his mouth to turn upwards – she was now carrying a stack of parchment. He watched as she returned to the front counter before placing the parchment in front of him.

Yaxley quickly flicked through the sheets, finding exactly what he was after: lists of teaching staff; lists of students enrolled; basic information about the location of the school. It was too much to read through just then, but he was positive that he had what he had come for.

“Excellent. My thanks,” he said. Then, lifting his wand, he cast one final spell before taking his leave. “ _Obliviate!”_

-oOoOo-

Alecto Carrow surveyed the six Death Eaters around her. All were robed in their proper regalia, black robes and silver masks.

In front of them stood the home of Kevin Patton, a mudblood that Alecto had known of for more than two decades. Back in the good times, back during the war, Patton had managed to stay hidden, but Alecto had never forgotten the young man that had spurned her advances before she’d realised his blood status.

She’d bided her time during this _peace_ , but now, now with the Dark Lord back, she could finally take her revenge.

“Seal the windows and doors,” she commanded. “Just leave the front door.”

At her words, the six split off, their wands raised, spells firing. A loud _gong_ resounded off of the house at the first spell, not that it stopped the Death Eater’s intensions. Half a dozen spells were all that it took to take down the Patton’s wards and then the windows, doors and walls were sealed. All except the front door. And that was where a shaking Kevin Patton stumbled from.

“Please, no. Please, don’t do this,” the man said, falling to his knees in front of them, his hands clasped before him.

“Throw down your wand!” Alecto demanded.

The clatter of wood on stone announced the compliance of her order.

“Please. Please, I’ve done what you asked. Let us alone,” Patton nearly cried.

“Us?” Alecto smiled. “What others are you hiding in there?”

“Just … just my wife. A-and s-son,” Patton whispered.

Alecto spun in a circle. This was going to be a lot more fun than she’d thought.

“Alright. Alright,” Alecto said, whirling back at towards him. “I’ll leave them be. They can stay inside the house, perfectly safe. You however, you won’t be so lucky.”

She turned to the nearest Death Eater.

“Seal the front door and fire the house!”

Two different coloured spells flew at the double story house. One sealing the last entrance to the house, the other lighting the thatch roof on fire. As smoke began billowing upwards, screams began to sound from the inside along with the sound of the rattling door.

“NO! No, please!” Patton begged, crawling towards the door, tears streaming from his face.

Alecto smiled and raised her wand at the man.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to let you see them die,” she said, raising her wand to point at his mid-section. “ _Exta vehementer expellere!”_

Instantly, a wet ripping sound exploded from Patton’s gut and blood and white ropes of flesh sprayed out, splattering on the ground about him. A gurgling noise bubbled from Patton’s lips as he tried to scamper backwards. He only made it half a foot before his eyes glazed over and he slumped to the ground, blood trickling from his mouth.

Alecto grinned widely behind her mask. Then, raising her wand, she cast one last spell into the dark.

“ _Morsmordre!”_

-oOoOo-

“Graham Montague?” Alecto Carrow asked the young man standing in the doorway of the modest townhouse.

“Yes,” the boy replied, uncertainty lacing his voice.

Alecto studied him. He was taller than her and built with muscles that only a beater could have. His dark brown hair and beady brown eyes were lank and greasy. There wasn’t much intelligence in the boy, from what she could see, even though he’d supposedly just graduated from Hogwarts.

But that was neither here nor there. He had the attributes that the Dark Lord was looking for. He was pureblood with the arrogance that only a pureblood deserved. And, from what she’d heard, he despised mudbloods and blood-traitors, just like a proper Death Eater should.

“I have a message for you,” Alecto said. “A message from the Dark Lord.”

“The Dark Lord?” Montague replied, eagerness clear in his voice and eyes.

Yes. Yes, _this_ would be the first of the new recruits that she would bring to her Lord.

-oOoOo-

“ _Avada kedavra,”_ Amycus snarled.

The green beam of light shot from the Death Eater’s wand across the room to slam into the man, immediately dropping him. The blood-traitor even slid an extra two meters across the floor with the momentum that he’d had by running away.

Looking around, Amycus surveyed what was left of the room. Dark swatches criss-crossed walls at irregular heights where misplaced spells had hit. Four bodies, three of them smaller than Amycus would ordinarily feel comfortable being anywhere near, lay scattered about the floor.

Unfortunately, this particular mission hadn’t been a complete success. Three members of the Lawnton family were out. At least they’d have something to find when they came home.

“Time’s up, my friends,” Amycus called. “Darien, cast the mark and let’s move on to our next target.”

-oOoOo-

The wards were so poor that a half-dead flobberworm could easily bypass them, at least, that was Lord Voldemort’s assessment as he twisted and turned his wand, channelling power to simply collapse said wards. It barely took the Dark Lord a minute to completely strip them away.

That done, he, with his two Death Eaters at his back, strode down the garden path to the door of the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic.

Lord Voldemort tipped his head to the side as he considered the door before him, deciding on the best way to conduct this particular event. Finally, he decided upon the unconventional and rapped on the door with the handle of his wand.

A light pattering of feet heralded the lady of the house approaching before the door was opened and a gasp was heard.

Lord Voldemort turned the corners of his mouth up as he looked down upon the short woman. She was wearing a horrid pink jumper and he was sure, at first, that she was the result of some demented spell that crossed the woman with a toad. Endeavouring to ignore her appearance, he focussed on her usefulness.

“Delores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, current Acting Minister of Magic,” he purred.

He watched, amused, as the woman’s mouth moved, opening and closing several times before she finally, simply, nodded her head.

“I’m sure that you know who I am?’

Another nod, this time accompanied by her entire body beginning to quake.

“There is no need to fear, Acting Minister,” he reassured her, “assuming, that is, that you agree to the very wonderful opportunity that I am here to present to you. I’m sure that we would all be much more comfortable discussing this inside, don’t you?”

Once again, the woman failed to make a sound. Instead, she hesitantly shuffled backwards, the door opening further as she clung on to it for dear life. As soon as it was wide enough, Lord Voldemort strode in, his gaze never leaving that of the woman’s.

“Shall we adjourn to your sitting room?” he asked.


	5. Chapter 5

Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, surreptitiously looked around the ancient chambers that the Wizengamot of Magical Britain met in, trying to get a read on the august body before the session began.

The upper galleries were only lightly filled today, mostly with reporters. She easily picked out Moreta Fowl, the primary news broadcaster of the Wizarding Wireless Network and Marcus Waynesbury from _The Daily Prophet._ Even Xenophilius Lovegood was there, representing his magazine, _The Quibbler_.

The tiers of rows where the one hundred and one members of the Wizengamot sat were slowly filling up. At the moment, with still around ten minutes to go before the session, most, she saw, had arrived. Blood-red robes embroidered with their elaborate golden ‘W’s’ on their breast milled around in small clumps. Every now and again, these groups would break apart and reform as views and opinions were sought.

She knew exactly what was going on. There were a number of important items on the docket today, but none more important than choosing a replacement for the head of the Ministry of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, who had, quite ironically, lost his head at the wand of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Having a strong, decisive Minister of Magic was vital in these times, in her opinion. There was no doubt that the murder of the Minister of Magic constituted a declaration of war and having the right person in charge of the Ministry could easily make or break the outcome.

Unfortunately, as they were still in the middle of the Minister’s term – the populace wasn’t due to go to the polls for another two and a half years – the duty of choosing the new Minister, according to the laws and charter of the Wizengamot, fell to that body. And with no time for potential candidates to lobby their position, there was simply no telling who would get voted in, assuming, of course, that there actually would be a vote. It could all come down to the various factions within the Wizengamot itself.

Amelia barely suppressed a scowl as she saw a group of the Darker members of the Wizengamot descend on the conservatives, those who espoused a moderate view between the Light and the Dark factions. No, with so much lobbying being down now, it was clear that no one side was confident of their nominees’ success.

A deep reverberating gong echoed around the chamber, quelling all talk and sending the various Lords and Regents scurrying to find their seats.

As she took her own place, Amelia glanced up to her left and shared a nod with Sirius and Cyrus, or as they were here in these chambers, Lords Black and Greengrass. Slightly further along and up one tier, Augusta Longbottom, Regent for the House of Longbottom, took her place, inclining her head in greeting at Amelia, an action that she copied.

“This session of the Wizengamot, the seventeenth of the year nineteen hundred and ninety-five on the nineteenth of July, is called to session,” Dumbledore intoned as he banged his gavel three times.

Dumbledore. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Amelia couldn’t help but scowl at the man. How he’d managed to hang on to his position of Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot she had no idea. He’d now survived a vote of no confidence not once but _twice_ , the first person to ever do so, as far as she was aware. She knew that he had a block of ardent supporters within the Wizengamot, just enough to keep the voting in his favour, at least when it came to that sort of vote, and it really made her blood boil.

She took some solace in the fact that in a few years, when Harry Potter turned twenty-one and took his place with these walls, not just one, but two seats, the Potter and Peverell seats, would reactivate. That would be enough to break a lot of deadlocks and would also be enough to block Dumbledore’s power base, assuming, of course, that he managed to survive as Chief Warlock that long.

And it wasn’t just here where Dumbledore had managed to hold on to his power by the tips of his fingers. His Headmastership of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was still in doubt, with the Board of Governors having placed the man on probation partway through the previous year and had yet to meet to decide whether or not to sack him or to keep him in place.

Rumour had it that Dumbledore’s third position, Head of the International Confederation of Wizards, would be taken from him at their next convocation in a months’ time.

Finally, the gathered members had settled and turned their attention to the Chief Warlock.

“Scribe Hensley, are you ready?”

“Yes, Sir,” the young woman replied.

“Very well,” Dumbedore replied, before turning slowly in a half circle so that all those present could see him. “Members of the Wizengamot. We have a number of items on the docket for today, but none are more pressing than to choose a replacement for Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, who was slain in a cowardly attack by the forces of the Dark, led by Lord Voldemort.”

As expected, there were a number of gasps, shrieks and much shuffling of seats at the very mention of the name of the most feared Dark Wizard in Britain’s recent history.

“At this time,” Dumbledore continued, “I believe it would be appropriate to honour our fallen Minister with a minute of silence.”

As the minute passed, Amelia couldn’t help but reflect upon the man. Fudge had been a pompous fellow, full of bluster and idiotic ideas. More often than not, he could be found twirling that ridiculous green bowler hat in his hands or seeking out advice or fawning over the likes of Lucius Malfoy before his true allegiance was known.

For all that, though, one could not deny that he was the consummate politician. How could he not be? He made the top office and held on to it well enough to get re-elected for a second term. But as much as she disliked the man and knew that he would have been disastrous in the top office with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returned, she hadn’t wanted the man killed.

No one knew exactly what he had undergone before he’d been slain, but if the past was anything to go by, dying by the hand of the Dark Lord was never pretty and something that one wouldn’t wish upon their worst enemy. Well, maybe their worst enemy if they were a part of the Dark Lord’s regime.

“Thank you all,” Dumbledore said, lifting his head from its bowed state. “Let us now address the need for the appointment of a new Minister of Magic. I open the floor to discussion and nominations.”

Amelia wasn’t surprised to notice that the first on their feet was Lord Euan Mulciber, a known member of the Dark faction of the Wizengamot and a suspected supporter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Indeed, his son, Graeme, had been convicted as being a Death Eater at the end of the last war and sentenced to life in Azkaban.

“Point of order, Chief Warlock,” Euan said in a voice that carried throughout the room. “I have here a copy of the rules and bylaws of the Wizengamot and according to Part four, Section Eleven, Sub-section Eighteen, Paragraph thirty-two-b, there is no need for a discussion or for nominations. I quote, ‘ _in the advent of the death or disability of the current Minister of Magic to the extent that he cannot continue his duties, except within the case of impeachment, there shall be a clear succession of assumption of duties of office, on a temporary basis, until the next general election of the magical populace of Great Britain shall decide upon the next Minister of Magic of Great Britain. This order of office shall be the following: the position of Minister of Magic shall be assumed by the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. If this person is unable to carry out this duty, then next in line shall be the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, followed by the next senior Department Head (determined by time in office) until a suitable person shall be found to hold temporary office.’_

“Under this ruling, it is clear to me,” Lord Mulciber continued, “that the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, Madam Dolores Umbridge, is the rightful person to assume the office of the Minister of Magic until the next general election.”

Amelia couldn’t help but to close her eyes. She’d known that this law was on the books, being third in command of the Ministry of Magic, it’d been her duty to make sure that she did so, but that hadn’t stopped her from the vain hope that no-one would remember it.

Umbridge was the worst possible person to have in the top job, as far as Amelia was concerned. She was odious, self-righteous and far too full of pure-blood propaganda. Just the number of laws that she’d tried to get passed – and succeeded with many of them – against werewolves was almost too many to count. If anything, she was likely to be a boon for the Dark side, not a bastion for the Light.

Not unexpectedly, there was a large murmuring of agreement from the vast majority of the Wizengamot members. But then, that was to be expected – the old codgers seemed to love nothing better than tying up proceedings in the minutia of the law and dragging out this old and nearly forgotten law was something that they would love.

“I second Lord Mulicber’s notion,” Lord Stephen Travers declared.

And there was another one of the Dark contingent of the Wizengamot. Travers’ nephew, Peter, had been another that had been sentenced to Azkaban after the first war. Amelia was starting to think that this whole thing was a set-up. They obviously knew exactly what they wanted to have happen and the sad thing was, they were going to get it.

The frown on Dumbledore’s face was easy to see; nevertheless, regardless of what the old man himself had been planning, Amelia knew that he’d just been hamstrung.

“Lord Mulicber’s interpretation of the Laws of the Wizengamot is correct,” the Chief Warlock stated. “As such, it is our duty to confirm Madam Dolores Umbridge, as the new Minister of Magic until the next general elections of the magical population of Great Britain.

Amelia watched the short, toad-like woman stand, not that it was easy to tell the difference. A self-satisfied smile lit her face and it did nothing to help her appearance as she straightened her ever-present pink cardigan. She took the three paces that she needed to before stepping up onto the slightly higher flooring where the Minister for Magic’s chair was located.

Idly, Amelia wondered who she’d get to fill the now vacant Senior Undersecretary’s position.

“ _Hem hem_ ,” the woman began. “Thank you members of the Wizengamot. It is most important that we, the leaders of our fair country, strive to follow the laws and procedures set down before us by our wise forebears in these troubled times. We must uphold the values and ideals that make us great, that which ensures that we stand head and shoulders above the rest of the world and cast aside all those things that threaten to hinder our great society. I shall do my utmost to follow in the footsteps of those who have come before us to guide us on the path that we must tread.”

“Thank you, Madam Minister,” Dumbledore said after she’d taken the seat of her new office and the smattering of applause had died away. “The next item on our agenda this morning is a report of the violence that has beset our land this past week. Madam Bones?”

Amelia rose and turned to face the Wizengamot.

“In the past seven days,” she said, ‘there have been thirty-four instances of crimes committed by Death Eaters, the followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Every one of these has been identified by the Dark Mark hanging over the houses and crime-scenes that they have left behind. Just over two-thirds of these, twenty-three to be precise, were committed against muggles. The remainder were against the magical population. In all instances, all occupants of the household were killed and in most cases, the houses themselves were set alight and destroyed.”

“What has been the response from the auror department?” Lord Moon asked.

“In all instances, the DMLE were given no warnings that these attacks were happening,” she replied. “By the time that we’d been notified, the perpetrators had long since made their escape.”

“Then how do you propose to catch the ones responsible?” Sirius asked, a question that she’d asked him to voice.

“The DMLE are currently in the process of preparing pamphlets that will be distributed to every magical house within Great Britain,” she stated. “This will deal not only with security questions that members of the house can implement between each other, but also suggest that evacuation plans be made. In addition to these measures, we will be recommending that, for those who can afford it, that they contact ward specialists to reinforce their current wards and to add new ones where necessary. I realise that this is not much in the grand scheme of things, but every little bit helps.

“To that end, I would like to petition the Wizengamot and the Ministry of Magic to have our own wards checked and updated,” she continued. “There have been a number of advancements made in the area of warding since the wards on this building were erected, and especially since they were last overhauled over a hundred years ago. In fact, the goblins have recently created a new ward that will detect any dark magic entering said wards. I would also like to do the same at Saint Mungo’s.”

“ _Hem hem_ , I am quite certain that the wards that have served us so well for so long have no need to be altered,” the new Minister of Magic stated, “especially by known potential enemies of normal witches and wizards.”

Amelia blinked at the woman. “Potential enemies?”

“Goblins, Madam Bones, goblins,” Umbridge replied. “There have been no less than fourteen goblin rebellions throughout the course of our interaction with them.”

“The last goblin rebellion was nearly two hundred years ago!” Amelia snapped.

“One can never be too careful,” Umbridge replied lightly, garnering an agreed murmur throughout the Wizengamot.

Amelia took a calming breath. Ten minutes in office and the woman was already getting on her nerves. Not to mention the fact that if she kept making comments like that, then there really would be a goblin rebellion on their hands. And there was no way that they could win two wars, especially if one of their enemies held and controlled all of their finances.

“I believe that we should table Madam Bones’ suggestion of having the Ministry of Magic’s wards examined and discuss it again after a committee has examined the idea,” Lord Nott stated.

The debate for that suggestion lasted barely five minutes before the idea was sent to a committee. The fact that four out of the seven named on that committee were known dark supporters meant that Amelia could be certain that the Ministry’s wards would stay exactly as they were.

She shared a look with Sirius, Cyrus, Augusta and even with David Moon. All knew the importance and usefulness of the new goblin wards that could detect the Dark Mark. Indeed, all of their manors were being fitted with the new wards as quickly as possible, along with half a dozen of their allies and Diricawl Academy itself.

But without those wards on the Ministry, there was no way to know if the Ministry had already been infiltrated or to stop a massed attack. They’d debated about suggesting that Hogwarts have the new wards installed, but knowing that there was no way that Dumbledore would erect them with Snape in the castle made the point moot.

Amelia sat back and listened to the rest of the Wizengamot session in silence. Debates circled themselves and, while points were raised, nothing was decided upon or worse, it was simply sent to an ineffectual committee.

With Umbridge now installed as Minister of Magic and with the backing that she had from the older pure-blood members and the dark faction itself, it seemed to her that the Wizengomot was going to be pretty useless in the war.

-oOoOo-

Albus Dumbledore stepped from the FLOO into his office at Hogwarts, flicked his wand to eliminate the ash from his person and rolled his shoulders.

He’d known exactly what was going to happen at the Wizengamot session that morning. The rules and bylaws dictated that it had to happen that way. And then, as expected, nothing was done or decided upon by the Wizengamot, which, when Albus reflected upon it, wasn’t all bad: there was nothing decided that would harm the magical population in general and nothing that would hurt or stop those misguided few from repenting of their decisions and returning to the Light.

Still, with an ineffectual government running the country and the war, Albus was glad that he’d had the foresight to send out invitations to the chosen few who he would need to put an end to the war, return the misguided ones to society and, most of all, correct an error fifty years in the making by stopping Tom.

A knock at the door interrupted Albus’ musings and he glanced at the tell-tale on his desk.

“Come in, Severus,” he called.

The tall, sallow man that was his potion’s master stepped through the door, his black cloak flaring behind him as he did so.

“You’re back. Good,” Severus drawled. “Your guests have been arriving over the past half hour and are getting restless.”

“Yes, the Wizengamot session went slightly longer than expected,” Albus replied. “Let us not keep the others waiting any longer than necessary.”

At his gesture, the younger man proceeded him through the door and down the winding staircase, only to pause at the gargoyle guarding the entryway.

“Did it go as you expected?” Severus asked.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Albus replied. “Dolores Umbridge is the new Minister for Magic. She and her supporters are already doing their best to hamstring the Ministry and the Wizengamot.”

“Still, I do not understand why you need _these_ ,” Severus stated, indicating those gathered on the other side of the doors to the Great Hall.

“Ah, Severus, I do not expect you to,” Albus smiled. “Just be assured that they will all play a vital role in events to come.”

The sneer on the younger man’s face was enough to ensure that the Headmaster knew exactly what he thought of that pronouncement.

At Albus’ gesture, the great doors swung open, allowing the two men entry.

A single table, the one usually reserved for the students of Hufflepuff House, was occupied by close to twenty individuals. Abus swung his gaze past all of them, smiling at each one as he did so.

There was the tall, dark skinned, bald auror, Kingsley Shaklebolt; there was Arabella Figg, a squib, with connections in the muggle world. Next to her was Mundungus Fletcher, a disagreeable fellow and a thief, but his connections to the seedy side of the magical world made him invaluable. Next were Emmeline Vance, Sturgis Podmore, Daedalus Diggle and Hestia Jones, all part of the ‘old crowd’.

On the opposite side of the table were Molly and Arthur Weasley, two of his staunchest supporters, despite the troubles that they’d had earlier that year with that infernal betrothal contract that he’d tried to set up between the Weasley’s youngest, Ginevra and young Harry. And then came the bulk of his Hogwarts staff: Pomona Sprout; Ronalda Hooch; Darius Elmsworthy; and Poppy Pomfrey. Surprisingly, even his estranged brother, Aberforth, had turned up.

Lastly was his good friend, Alastor ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody, the grizzled retired auror with more experience detecting and catching dark witches and wizards than the rest of the group put together.

Albus could only shake his head at the absentees.

There were four others that he’d invited, four that he knew could be great assets, if they chose to listen to him and to follow his orders. Minerva McGonagall. Sirius Black. Remus Lupin. Filius Flitwick. Although, exactly how useful Filius could actually be now that he was confined to a wheelchair was anyone’s guess. But they were all connections to Harry Potter, another vital person who Albus knew he needed to win this war.

Once he was at the head of the table and Severus had taken his place, Albus opened his arms wide.

“Thank you all for coming so promptly. And welcome. Welcome each of you to the first meeting of the reformed Order of the Phoenix!”


	6. Chapter 6

Harry landed hard and grunted as a head or elbow or something slammed into his stomach. That, combined with the momentum from the portkey sent him tumbling to the ground. A body landed on top of him, further driving the air from his lungs and he squeezed his eyes shut tight.

The sounds of someone, no, more than one person, vomiting reached him, causing his stomach to churn. The smell alone almost caused his own breakfast to make a return appearance. The sounds of vomit splashing on the ground didn’t help at all.

Fighting against his stomach, Harry slapped a hand over his mouth, pushed the body on him off and rolled away. Finally, after a couple of deep breaths, he wiped the sweat that had blossomed on his brow and opened his eyes.

The sound of hurried footsteps crossing the room brought his head up.

“Nerri! We’re going to need a mop and bucket in here!” Sirius called.

The pop of the small female elf heralded the arrival of the Potter elf.

“Hi there, are you alright?” Sirius asked, reaching down to offer a hand to Mike Evans, who, like Harry, was on his hands and knees.

Mike nodded slowly, tentatively, it looked like. Reaching up, he grasped the offered hand before getting to his feet.

“Sorry about that,” Sirius was saying. “Portkeys can be pretty rough, especially the first time that you ever use one.”

“You can say that again,” Mike agreed. “I’m Mike Evans.”

“Sirius Black, Harry’s godfather and one of the teachers here at Diricawl Academy,” Sirius replied.

“Nice to meet you,” Mike replied absently before turning to the rest of the Evans family.

Harry moved to stand beside Sirius.

The room that they’d landed in was roughly ten metres wide by fifteen metres long. The outline of a door marked the far wall, blending in almost perfectly with the warm white paint. The fact that there was no door handle meant that, if you weren’t looking closely, it was possible to miss it. On the opposite wall was an alcove with huge fireplace, currently unlit, that was large enough for a person to stand inside: the FLOO access point for the island.

The room was currently unfurnished. Indeed, the only decorations that the room had, apart from the painted walls and the dark grey stone floor, was a large motif on either side wall of the school’s crest. Well, that and the series of small dark holes that encircled the room near both the top and the bottom of every wall.

“I think that we need to get some couches or something in here for people to rest on when they arrive,” Harry suggested.

“Perhaps if we find some way to bolt them to the floor,” Sirius agreed quietly.

By now, the four Evans’ were on their feet, although both Susan and Melody were still looking rather queasy. Mark wasn’t looking too good either, but he, at least, hadn’t thrown up.

“Here, drink this,” Sirius said, digging into his pockets and producing four small vials of dull orange liquid.

“What is it?” Mike asked carefully.

“It’s a potion to help settle your stomach,” Sirius replied. “It doesn’t taste that great, but believe me, you’ll feel a lot better for it.”

One by one, the four drank the offered vials, each pulling a disgusted face before they blinked hard and smiled slightly.

“Will that be all, Master Harry?” Nerri asked.

Harry nodded at her. “Yes, thanks, Nerri.”

“What _was_ that?” Susan asked.

“A house elf,” Harry replied. “They’re magical beings that love nothing more than to serve witches and wizards. They actually get a lot of their magical energy from the family or magical institution that they serve.”

“And that one … Nerri serves the school?” Mike asked carefully.

“Yes. Sort of,” Harry replied. “The school currently has fourteen elves, although we’re hoping to bring their numbers up to thirty before the start of the school year. But Nerri and two others are Potter elves – they belong to my family and are … on loan to the school.”

“I think that she was cute,” Melody piped up.

“I would have thought that you’d use magic to clean things,” Susan commented, her glance at the wet patch on the floor where Nerri had been cleaning indicating what she was thinking about.

“Ordinarily, we would,” Sirius stated. “But this room has been warded … um, made so that no magic can be performed in here, not even elven magic.”

“Mark, Melody, Susan, Mike, this is my godfather, Sirius Black,” Harry introduced, pointing to each of them in turn. “Sirius, my cousins.”

“It’s nice to meet you all,” Sirius smiled. “Harry here has been going on and on about you ever since coming back from Surrey. He’s really excited to have found some long-lost family.”

“Shall we get out of here so that you can see the school?” Harry asked quickly, obviously changing the topic.

With a wave of his arm, Sirius led the group across to the handle-less door and knocked on it twice. When the door opened the Evans’ were treated to the sight of their second magical species within five minutes.

“Welcome to Diricawl Academy,” the goblin who opened the door stated.

The fact that he’d said it in as pleasant a tone of voice as he could was offset by the fact that his voice could be described as gravel grinding against itself and when he smiled, it only seemed to emphasise his mouthful of sharp, pointed teeth.

The Evans’ froze at the sight of him, their eyes flicking to Harry and Sirius.

“This is Chert,” Sirius introduced. “He’s a goblin and our Head of Security here at Diricawl. He’ll also be a part-time teacher for those wishing to learn gobbledegook, the goblin language, like Harry here wants to.”

“Goblins are real,” Mike muttered, shaking his head.

“That they are,” Harry grinned at him as he handed Chert the skipping rope that they’d used as a portkey. “Usually, you only see them at Gringotts, the wizarding bank, which they run. They’re great warriors, though, and have their own brand of magic. We’re very lucky to have him.”

Mark seemed to decide that if Harry thought that the short, strange-looking creature with the long pointed nose and weird ears and teeth was alright, then he would too.

The ten-year-old marched up to Chert and stuck out his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Sir,” he said.

Chert eyed the boy up and down, flicked his eyes to Harry and reached out and grasped the offered hand. He only gave it two firm pumps up and down before letting go.

“Slipshard was right,” Chert stated. “The Potter family is quite unusual.”

Sirius laughed. “These may be Harry’s family, but they’re from the other side of his family – the Evans side.”

Chert nodded before motioning the group aside so that he could shut the door behind them. He took a suspicious look through the window back into the room, a window that couldn’t be seen from inside the room itself before turning, crossing his arms and glowering at them.

“Come on,” Harry said, “there’s nothing much to see in here, this is just the security house and the main entry-point for the school.”

“Entry-point?” Mike asked. “I thought that you said that this was an island. Couldn’t people just sail here on a boat?”

“Yes! You do have a boat, don’t you?” Susan echoed. “I’d rather not have to go home by that … that portkey thing if I don’t have to.”

“Well, while we do have a boat …” Harry began.

“Hovercraft,” Sirius interjected.

“Sorry, _hovercraft_ ,” Harry corrected, “the wards, er, shields around the island that make this place safe are kind of tricky to get out of or into. Think maze-like. It’s just easier to use other methods – portkey, apparition and FLOO.”

“What are those?” Mark asked.

“Well, portkeying you’ve now experienced. For apparition, think Star Trek and beaming places, except witches and wizards can do that by _willing_ themselves to do it without technology. And the FLOO is sort-of the same, except we use fireplaces to direct us from one place to another,” Harry explained

“Fireplaces?” Susan asked disbelievingly.

“Is that why there was a fireplace in that room we landed in?” Melody asked.

“Exactly!” Sirius beamed. “My, you are an observant one, aren’t you?”

Melody grinned back at him.

“For security purposes, though, “Sirius continued, “we’ve designed things so that anyone coming to the island will land in that room, no-one can arrive anywhere else on the island. It helps us know that the kids who’ll be living and learning here will be safe.”

Mike nodded approvingly. “I may not like the method of travel, but if it’s to keep your students safe, then it can only be a good thing.”

“Spoken like a true parent and teacher,” Sirius smiled.

Their conversation had brought them out of the stone building that housed the Security Office and EntryWay to Diricawl Academy of Magical Studies. The cobblestone path that led to the main buildings of the school was lined by hedges filled with blooms of orange, red and yellow flowers.

 At various points, the path opened up to allow the access to other parts of the island: the front gardens; the circular path that led around the buildings where the greenhouses and sports fields, quidditch pitch and Sport Hall could be found; and of course, the meandering path that crossed the length of the island, finishing at the refurbished causeway and stone bridge to the smaller island where the majority of the magical creatures could be found.

Sensing that his guests had paused, Harry stopped with them. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight that had transfixed his cousins.

Diricawl Academy had come a long way from Potter Manor in Potter Haven; the dwarves had done wonders with the buildings that they had created on Ynys Crochenydd.

Before them stood the great three-storied building built from white, pink and light grey granite blocks. The main section extended for sixty metres before the wings to either side jutted forth at a forty-five degree angle towards them. Deep grey slate tiles that almost appeared blue covered the roof, except for the dome on the left wing. There, Harry knew, was the school’s observatory where the students would be able to observe the stars through the clear glass, regardless of the temperature outside.

The grounds were still a work in progress. Garden beds had been planned and in many cases, started. The elves, who were doing the work, though, had concentrated on the pathways first, ensuring that people would stay off of the sections that they had under construction.

“Shall we go inside?” Harry asked.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Susan said.

“That is one impressive building,” Mike commented.

“We’ve built for the long term.,” Sirius replied. “Most likely a lot of the rooms inside won’t be used this year and probably not even next year, but once we’ve got a full complement of students, it’ll all be put to use.”

“How many students does the school have?” Susan asked.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Sirius replied. “We won’t know the answer to that for a couple of weeks.”

“There were fourteen of us last year,” Harry supplied. “But that was when we were limited to the number of rooms in the manor at Potter Haven. _This_ , though, can handle one hundred and thirty-two students, plus staff. We’ll be sending out the letters to prospective students August one, but we suspect that we’ll get a minimum of fifty.”

“And the only other alternative was the school in a castle, is that right?” Mike asked.

“Yeah, Hogwarts. It’s over a thousand years old and can handle up to one thousand students, although for the past couple of hundred years, it’s been taking around four hundred. There’s been other, small schools before Diricawl, but Hogwarts has lasted the time,” Sirius replied.

The double oak doors burst open as they were just ascending the stairs between two of the columns that lined the front porch of the building. Three boys came racing out, babbling excitedly to each other, a football being bounced by the eldest.

“Oh, hi, Harry!” the ball-bouncing one exclaimed. “Hi, Sirius!”

“Hey, Colin,” Harry replied. “I didn’t know you guys were going to be here today.”

“Yeah, our mum and Mickey’s mum were meeting with some of the other mums about something and said that we could come to the island as well,” Colin replied, indicating the two boys beside him.

“These three are some of the students here,” Harry introduced. “This is Colin and Dennis Creevey and Mickey Pemberton. Colin’s going into fourth year and Dennis and Mickey will be second years. Guys, these are my cousins, Mike, Susan, Mark and Melody.”

“Are you going to be a student here?” Dennis asked, looking at Mark.

“Yeah, I’ll be a … first year?” Mark replied, looking to Harry for confirmation, who nodded encouragingly.

“Well, in that case, welcome to D.A.,” Mickey beamed.

“D.A.?” Mark asked.

“Yeah. D.A. Short for Diricawl Academy,” Mickey replied. “It’s a bit of a mouthful to say the whole thing.”

“Say, do you want to come play some football with us?” Colin asked. “Two on two will be much better than it just being the three of us.”

“Can I?” Mark asked, looking up at his parents.

“They won’t get into any trouble,” Sirius assured them.

“Okay, then. Have fun,” Mike replied.

Almost before he’d finished giving his permission, the four boys had raced off down the path, taking a sharp turn to the right.

At Harry’s gesture, the remaining Evans’ and Sirius entered the still open front door of the school. The Entry Hall was large and spacious, reaching up the full three stories of the building. On the tiled floor at their feet was a large Diricawl crest, but after a brief glance, Harry was sure that their visitors never gave it a second look.

The Entry Hall was designed as a central focus point and a place to jump off to any of the different sections of the school. To either side of the Hall were large double doors – the one to the right leading to the dining hall, the one to the left, to the classroom wing. Dominating the view in front of them were two great curved marble staircases leading to the second level.

On the outside of each staircase were two long passageways.

But it was the counter set between the stairs that Harry and Sirius led Mike, Susan and Melody towards. Written out in large letters carved from a light-coloured wood to contrast with the rich, deep redwood of the counter and affixed to the front of the desk, was the word ‘Reception’.

“You must be the Evans’,” Minerva stated as she lifted up one side of the counter and stepped through the opening to greet them.

“Mike, Susan, Melody, meet Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Diricawl Academy of Magical Studies,” Harry smiled. “Minerva, my cousins, Mike, Susan and Melody Evans.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you all,” Minerva said, reaching out to shake each of their hands, even little Melody’s. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I was under the impression that you had a boy eligible to start his magical education?”

“The Creevey boys and Mickey found us outside the door,” Sirius replied. “I suspect that they’re on one of the back fields by now.”

Minerva gave a small smile. “Ah, yes, that would account for it.”

“You have a lovely looking school,” Susan said.

“Thank you,” Minerva replied. “Although there’s still a bit of work to be done to get it ready for September First. It is my understanding that you’re here for a tour?”

“If it’s not too much trouble?” Mike replied.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you here,” Sirius said, “I’ve got a bit of work of my own to do.”

“I’d be delighted to show you around,” Minerva stated after Sirius had strode off up the nearest staircase, taking the steps two at a time. “Shall we start with the classrooms?”

At her gesture, the group headed for the appropriate double doors.

“Has Harry told you much about how magical education works?” Minerva asked.

Mike glanced at his cousin before answering. “Not as such. But then, we haven’t had much time yet to get to know one another yet.”

“Then let me give you the basics,” Minerva replied. “Magical education usually starts at age eleven, after the child’s magical core has had a chance to settle down, allowing them to more consciously direct and channel their magic.”

“Mark’ll be eleven on the second of August,” Mike announced.

“So the magic that Mark and Melody have been doing up until now has been …?” Susan asked.

“We call it ‘accidental magic’. Basically, it is their subconscious channelling their magic to meet their needs. Unfortunately, this doesn’t always happen the way that it should, and can produce unpredictable results,” Minerva replied.

“Like when I was younger and got in trouble in class for something my cousin did. I was really annoyed with my teacher and accidentally turned her hair blue,” Harry supplied.

Mike chuckled at his cousin and slapped him on his back.

“Remind me not to annoy you,” he grinned.

“A wand helps the witch or wizard channel their magic into doing what they want,” Minerva stated.

“Where do I get a wand?” Melody piped up.

“Diagon Alley,” Harry replied. “Remember I told you about the magical shopping district? That’s what it’s called. But not until you’re eleven.”

Melody pouted at that. That meant that she’d have to wait another two years before she could get her own wand.

“And it’s essential for a witch or wizard to have a wand?” Susan asked.

“It helps with learning to have something to focus one’s magic through,” Minerva replied. “Harry here has a staff as well as a wand. There are those that don’t need a channelling instrument, instead performing wandless magic, but this is a rare skill that can usually only be learnt once the magical core has finally settled.”

“It’s a class that we’ll offer as a NEWT level option,” Harry said.

By this time, the group had entered the classroom wing of the school. To the left and right of the door were dual wide winding staircases leading up to the higher levels as well as down to a sub-level. The wide corridor in front of them was lined with half a dozen doors leading to classrooms on each side.

“NEWT level?” Mike asked as they strolled along the corridor, sticking their heads into the classrooms.

“Nasty Exhausting Wizarding Tests,” Minerva clarified. “Otherwise known as our sixth and seventh year classes. There are seven years of magical schooling altogether. After the first five, the students sit their OWLs.”

“Ordinary Wizarding Level tests,” Harry supplied.

“Their marks from those tests determine what subjects they are eligible to take in their final two years before they take their NEWTs and become fully-fledged members of the magical society.”

At the end of the corridor, set in their own alcoves, they found a spiral staircase to their left and a door to their right.

“What’s down there?” Melody asked, pointing to the stairs leading downwards.

“There are three large classrooms down there,” Minerva replied. “Each of them are spelled and warded so that the more dangerous magic that gets practiced can’t do any harm to anyone accidentally. This floor and the one above it, each hold twelve classrooms. The top floor only has seven, but one of those is six times the size of the others and opens to the sky for our astronomy classes.”

“Oh, we saw the dome from outside,” Susan said.

“That’s a lot of classrooms,” Mike stated.

“Our ultimate goal is to offer upwards of thirty different subjects, both magical and non-magical,” Minerva stated. “Our only hindrance at the moment is in knowing which subjects our students wish to learn and having the staff to teach those subjects.

Harry stepped into the alcove with the door and opened it, showing a short hallway with a door at the end.

“This will be one of the special areas for the non-magical classes,” he called over his shoulder. “When this building is finished, it’ll be completely warded so that no magic can be performed inside it, which means that, with a generator for power, we’ll be able to have a couple of rooms full of computers for the students to learn on and to type their homework and assignments.”

“What about the internet?” Mike asked. “Will you have that?”

Harry shook his head. “Not any time soon. We’ve got no way to get the cables from the mainland to here without them shorting out as soon as they touch the school wards.”

“Shall we go up?” Minerva asked, indicating the spiral staircase behind them.

After climbing the stairs to the second level and strolling back along the line of classrooms, they emerged onto the landing. To their left was a walkway that was bordered by the wall on one side and a railing on the other. It was easily wide enough for three or four to walk abreast and completely encircled the open Entry Hall below. At the very front, glass doors opened onto the patio that overlooked the front gardens.

“This is our library,” Minerva said, indicating the doors to the right. “Once we’ve had a chance to set it up, it’ll contain a couple of thousand books and have plenty of space for desks and study areas.”

“What’s through there?” Melody asked, pointing to the door across from them.

“That is the teacher residence area,” Minerva replied. “The top two levels on that wing are dedicated to the staff. Of course, we all have our offices downstairs, behind the Reception desk.”

“The students will only use the ground floor of that wing of the school,” Harry continued. “As Minerva said, the top floors are for the teachers and the sub-level is dedicated to the kitchens and the elves.”

“You said before about there being over thirty different classes that you hope to teach here?” Susan said. “Can we hear more about them?”

“And about how much it’ll cost us to send Mark and eventually Melody here?” Mike added.

Minerva looked at Harry with a raised eyebrow before answering.

“Certainly. But as for cost, I would have thought that your cousin would have already explained that,” she said.

“Your dad and my grandfather were brothers,” Harry said to Mike. “And both of them are descended from the Lomas line of my family. What Minerva is referring to is the fact that when Diricawl Academy signed the lease to have the school situated here, one of the stipulations that I put in was that anyone from any of my three Houses – Potter, Peverell or Lomas – did not have to pay to go here.”

Mike stared at him, his jaw dropping open slightly.

“You’re saying that because we’re family and you own this island, that our kids can come here for free?”

“Yep,” Harry beamed. “There’s gotta be some perks to being related to me.”

“Shall we go downstairs to my office?” Minerva suggested. “I can give you one of our brochures which will be sent to all of our prospective students. It outlines which subjects we are currently able to offer our students and the teachers for each of those subjects. And afterwards, I can tell you about our subject hopes for the future.”


	7. Chapter 7

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall stood stoically beside her colleague as she waited. Her hands were clasped behind her back and the longer that she was made to stand there, the thinner her lips became.

After the past year where the Department of Magical Education of the Ministry of Magic seemed to owl her nearly every other week demanding a time to inspect her school, the fact that they were now nearly half an hour late to an appointment that she’d requested grated on her nerves.

A year ago, she, along with Sirius and Cyrus Greengrass had spent hours filling out the required forms to set up a new magical school. And those forms were essential, regardless of the fact that there were only to be fourteen students. Now that Diricawl Academy of Magical Studies had moved location and was set to cater for ten times as many students, it seemed that the Department’s required forms and procedures had multiplied at an arithmetic formula that she was unable to deduce.

“It wouldn’t hurt to sit while you wait, Minerva,” her Deputy Head called.

Minerva closed her eyes momentarily before turning to see Remus lounging in one of the chairs set off to the side of the Security building. She’d just begun to open her mouth in order to retort when she was interrupted by the goblin at her side.

“The FLOO is activating,” Chert, the school’s Security Chief stated.

Minerva spun back around to look through the window into the Receiving Room. Indeed, the flames in the far fireplace were now green. As the first of their visitors stepped through the flames, she felt Remus come to stand beside her.

The first two men through the FLOO were well-known to the two administrators of Diricawl Academy: Tiberius Sheppardton, the Head of the Department of Magical Education and Arthur Weasley, the Head of the Department for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. Minerva had never been able to determine exactly why Arthur was involved in these discussions. The only thing that she could come up with was the fact that their school placed muggle education of their students as important, right alongside their magical education.

The sound of a great gong resounded unexpectedly throughout the Security Room and a strip of fluorescent red appeared around the door into the Receiving Room.

Minerva’s hand shot to her breast as she tried to steady her nerves from the unexpected sound and she whirled to the goblin beside her.

“What is Merlin’s name is that?” she demanded.

“Dark Mark,” Chert growled, lifting his axe from the wall and giving it a couple of experimental swings. “Someone tried to come through the FLOO with a Dark Mark.”

Minerva looked back through the observation window to see the form of the ancient Griselda Marchbanks, Head of the Wizarding Examination Authority, step from the fireplace. None of the three looked startled by the sound of the alarm gong, indicating that the room that they were in was silenced from outside noise.

“One of them has the Dark Mark?” she asked.

“Not one of them. Another. Whoever it was didn’t make it through our wards,” Chert stated.

“Whoever it was would have been bounced out of the FLOO system entirely,” Remus added. “Whoever and wherever they are, I’m betting that they’ve got one hell of a headache right about now.”

Minerva’s eyes narrowed as she continued to observe the three Ministry workers on the other side of the window.

“You are positive that none of them bear the Dark Mark?” she asked.

“No Dark Mark,” Chert stated. “Their intentions, though, that’s another matter.”

“Perhaps we should greet them and find out the identity of the fourth person?” Remus suggested.

“Indeed,” Minerva agreed.

Then, stepping forwards, she grasped the door handle and pulled it open. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Chert moving into position, his axe at the ready.

“Ah, Minerva, so good to see you again,” Griselda smiled.

“Hello, Griselda,” Minerva replied. “Before we begin, could I ask if this is all of your party?”

“Actually, no, it’s not,” Mister Sheppardton frowned. “We were just discussing that. Walden MacNair was also supposed to be with us, to examine your beasts.”

“He stepped into the FLOO before me, so I expected him to be here,” Griselda stated.

“Perhaps he got out at the wrong grate,” Arthur suggested.

“Unfortunately not,” Remus stated.

“What do you mean?” Mister Sheppardton asked, taking a step forward.

“Diricawl Academy has been warded with the most advanced and complete wards that galleons will buy,” Minerva said. “Including some goblin wards. In particular, one that detects and forcefully rejects anyone baring the Dark Mark.”

“That’s preposterous!” Sheppardton exclaimed. “Walden MacNair is a respected member of the Ministry of Magic and an upstanding citizen. He is no more a Death Eater than I am.”

“Regardless, Mister MacNair does bear the Dark Mark,” Griselda stated.

Sheppardton stared at his colleague. “He was cleared! The Wizengamot determined that he was imperio-ed into taking the Dark Mark.”

“He was questioned under veritaserum?” Remus asked lightly.

“Of course not. As a member of an Ancient Wizarding family, he was exempt from being forced to take the serum,” Sheppardton replied. “I demand that you lower this ward to allow him access! Your beasts need to be inspected.”

“We will not be lowering our wards,” Minerva stated firmly. “The safety of our children is paramount. No one who bears the Dark Mark will ever be permitted within our school. I will have to ask the Ministry to send a different person for that part of the inspection.”

Sheppardton’s mouth opened and closed a number of times before he huffed.

“I’ll be informing the Minister of this!”

“I commend you on your willingness to place your students’ safety above all else,” Griselda smiled. “Are there other safety measures in place?”

“Indeed,” Remus replied. “Within this room alone – which, incidentally is the only place that people can enter the school via portkeys, apparition or FLOO – there are a number of other safeguards. You’ll forgive us if we keep their exact nature to ourselves.”

“Very prudent,” Griselda replied. “Well, come along, let’s begin the inspection; I’m not getting any younger, you know.”

For a moment, it appeared that Mister Sheppardton was going to be left behind, but it seemed that his duty to inspect the school overrode his desire to FLOO back to the Ministry and to talk to the Minister, for he managed to scurry through the door to the Security Room just before it closed.

-oOoOo-

“What you want to attempt is incredibly ambitious,” Griselda stated.

“Ambitious is not the word that I would use,” Sheppardton counted. “Ludicrous, is more like it.” He slapped the table in front of him that held the large sheet of paper with all thirty-one listed subjects on it. “Over thirty subjects, the vast majority of which Hogwarts does not offer. And that’s not even taking into account that more than a fifth of them are _muggle_ subjects!”

“No one who attempted to fly a broom succeeded by running away from it,” Remus stated calmly.

“We realise that what we propose is ambitious,” Minerva continued smoothly. “We actually have no intention of offering all of those subjects this year. This is simply something for us to aim for as the years progress. For now, we will be quite content with offering half that number to our students.”

Sheppardton turned to the Head Examiner of the Wizarding Board. “Can you honestly see them succeeding with this … this variety of subject matter?”

“Actually, I can,” Griselda replied simply. “Diricawl has no students who have attained the traditional OWL age, and yet they have students who have already attempted – and succeeded beyond my wildest expectations – a number of OWLs. Mister Potter alone now has two OWLs.”

“I wasn’t aware that the OWL results had been released yet?” Minerva asked politely.

Griselda smiled at the Headmistress. “They haven’t been. But that doesn’t mean that I haven’t seen them.”

With a scowl, Sheppardton turned and smacked the second piece of paper on the table.

“And what about this list of teachers?” he asked. “Muggles, goblins, house-elves, werewolves. What’s next? A centaur and a merman?”

“If they were qualified, yes,” Minerva stated. “Diricawl will not tolerate discrimination. Against her teachers or her students.”

“And you are serious about taking in werewolf students?” Arthur asked.

“If some can be found that wish to attend, yes,” Remus smiled. “We’ve taken all the precautions that we can – wolfsbane potion and secure facilities for the night of the full moon. And apart from then, they are no more dangerous than any other student.”

“Well, I for one am very happy to endorse Diricawl Academy,” Griselda remarked, cutting off Sheppardton’s next tirade. “Your plans are ambitious, but you seem to have the staff and facilities to rival any school, not only here in Britain, but anywhere in the world. I dare say Hogwarts will need to pull its socks up if it wants to stay ahead of the game.”

“That’s if they actually _are_ ahead of the game,” Arthur said sotto voce, before continuing in a normal volume. “My Department has no concerns either.”

“Tiberius?” Griselda asked pointedly.

“The Department of Magical Education will sign off on Diricawl Academy, providing that the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures finds everything to their satisfaction,” Sheppardton grumbled.

“Wonderful,” Griselda smiled. “In that case, Minerva, I wonder if you could show me one of your diricawls? I simply find the creatures fascinating.”

-oOoOo-

“I’m still not convinced that this is a good idea,” Harry stated.

Beside him, Sirius glanced across and down slightly. “You’ll get no argument from me. Unfortunately, this is one of those times where we’re just going to have to jump on the hippogryph and hope for the best.”

Harry grunted in response. They’d had this conversation more than once already this week. And not just them, either, but Minerva, Amelia, Remus and even Dan and Emma Granger had joined in, all voicing the inadvisability of their doing exactly what they were doing.

Glancing up as they strode along, Harry felt his heart leap. Once upon a time, the sight before him had filled him with such awe. Back then, though, Hogwarts castle represented a brand-new life, an escape from the drudgery that was life with the Dursleys.

He could still remember seeing the castle for the first time. It was out on the lake, with all its lights shining from its hundreds of windows and the stars as a backdrop. He’d learnt his first spells here and made his first friends. He’d had adventures, too – confronting Professor Quirrell, or whatever he’d become; playing quidditch; and then there was the basilisk that he’d slain hundreds of feet below ground in the Chamber of Secrets.

Then had come the realisation that his life wasn’t entirely his own. The Headmaster, the venerable Albus Dumbledore, for some unknown reason, had taken to manipulating his life, determining where he could go and even who he should marry. It’d taken dropping out of school completely and gathering even more friends and allies before he’d broken that hold, not that Dumbledore was content with that. No, it seemed that at every chance that he got, the Headmaster attempted to get Harry back under his thumb.

And here he was walking back into castle, and not just into the castle, but all the way into the Headmaster’s office.

The castle was eerily quiet as the two strode through the halls. There were no students here now, not now that it was the holidays. There was no magic being performed, no students running late for class, no sounds of laughter ringing through the corridors. They didn’t even encounter Peeves the poltergeist.

“Ready?” Sirius asked, as they came to a halt in front of the gargoyle that guarded the steps to the Headmaster’s office.

Swallowing thickly, Harry nodded.

After clapping him on the shoulder, Sirius turned to the statue. “Gummy bears.”

At once the gargoyle jumped to the side, revealing a slowly revolving staircase. Together, the two stepped on it to ride up in silence.

“Come in, Harry, Sirius!”

At the Headmaster’s voice, they shared a look before Sirius turned the handle of the oak door in front of him and the two walked forward.

The room was exactly the way Harry remembered it from the last time that he was in there the night of the Choosing of the Champions for the TriWizard Tournament. There were shelves full of ancient-looking tomes, tables filled with spindly-looking objects, and every spare inch of the walls was covered in portraits of past Headmasters and Mistresses.

Thankfully, the office wasn’t as empty of people as it could have been. Besides Dumbledore sitting regally behind his desk, there were three other people already there, one of which Harry knew.

Amelia turned at their entry and gave the pair a small smile before turning back to the … man beside her. Harry blinked at the person. They were dressed in a heavy black cloak that hid every facet of their body and with the way the hood was pulled up and over not just their head, but also their eyes, casting their face into deep shadow, the person’s gender was purely speculative.

The final person there was a tall, bald, dark-skinned man wearing the red robes of an auror. Apart from his very straight posture, the most striking feature of the man was the large gold hoop earring that he wore.

“Ah, that will be our final member now,” Dumbledore remarked as the flames in the fireplace flared up and turned green.

The man that stomped out of the FLOO was the most grizzled man that Harry had ever seen. This man had seen battle, a lot of it by the looks of it and Harry wasn’t sure whether he’d been the victor. Certainly, he hadn’t come away unscathed. His face was heavily scarred; a large chunk of his nose was completely missing; and one eye had been replaced with an eerie magical blue eye that continuously revolved around inside the man’s head. At one point, the eye looked to be looking out the back of the man’s head, at least, that’s the way it appeared with the way that the eye had turned completely white.

“Albus,” the man growled, stomping forward.

On every other step, there was a distinct _thunk_ and Harry realised that the man was also missing a leg; it also explained the large staff that he carried. This staff, though, was nothing like Harry’s own. Where his was clearly a thing of power, this one looked to be a highly polished and shaped tree branch.

“Now that we’re all here, shall we take a seat?” Dumbledore stated.

The seven of them arranged themselves into chairs – six in a half-circle on one side of the great desk, with Dumbledore on the other. Harry glanced at Sirius, receiving a look of ‘I told you so’ in return. Clearly, just as Sirius and Amelia had predicted, Dumbledore was placing himself in a position of authority and power over the others.

“I think introductions are in order,” Dumbledore began. “On my left is Algeron Croaker, Head Unspeakable. Next is Madam Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Beside her is Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived-Again, I believe they’re calling you these days. His guardian, Sirius Black. Next we have Kingsley Shacklebolt, one of the Senior Aurors in the Ministry. And finally, Alastor Moody, Master Auror, retired.”

“Call me Mad-Eye,” the grizzled ex-auror grunted to Harry.

Harry quickly nodded. The man looked to be someone that it was best to never get on the wrong side of.

“We are here today because we are the vanguard of those who must fight Voldemort,” Dumbledore began.

“Don’t you mean Tom Riddle?” Amelia stated.

“Riddle? Who’s this Riddle character?” Moody asked, his electric blue eye spinning to rest on Amelia.

“Voldemort’s real name is Tom Riddle,” Amelia replied.

“Is it now? And how would you know that?” Moody asked.

“Riddle told me,” Harry replied. “Down in the Chamber of Secrets two years ago when I had to battle some ghost-like shade of him and his basilisk.”

“Huh,” Moody grunted, his eye spinning until it came to rest on Dumbledore. “Could have been useful to know that earlier. You knew?”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore replied. “I once had the honour of being one of Tom’s teachers.”

“Good. Gives us a place to start. Know your enemy. If you don’t know your enemy, you’re not being as vigilant as you could be,” Moody stated. “What do we know about him, then?”

“Young Tom began his Hogwarts’ career in nineteen thirty-eight,” Dumbledore replied. “By the time he graduated in nineteen forty-five, he was a Prefect and Head Boy. Little is known of his life after Hogwarts. He disappeared after a few years, only to re-emerge in the seventies as Lord Voldemort.”

“Not enough. Nowhere near enough!” Moody grumbled. “Surely you know more about the man, Albus.”

“Some, I will confess, but most of it is conjecture and guesses. Nothing that I would be willing to share as such.”

“If we’re to work together to combat the threat that is You-Know-Who, then we must learn more about him. Doing so will only aid us in understanding how he thinks and operates,” Shaklebolt stated in a deep bass voice.

Moody’s face twisted itself into something that Harry thought might be a smile, albeit a smile that Harry never wanted directed at himself.

“I like this one, Am. Got a good mind to ’im,” he stated.

“Kingsley is one of my best,” Amelia replied. “Rufus would have liked to be here as well, but we had to leave someone back minding the store.”

“What I want to know, is how in the name of Merlin’s saggy pants did Voldemort survive that night?” Sirius asked. “From what I’ve heard, there was nothing left of him besides his cloak.”

“He was definitely alive enough to possess Professor Quirrell,” Harry stated, “even if he looked like something less than a ghost after I burnt him out of the professor.”

“Burnt him out?” Moody questioned.

Harry shrugged. “There was a fight and when I touched Professor Quirrell’s skin, he burnt up, forcing Voldemort out of the body.”

Cautiously, Moody stood, stomped across to Harry and prodded his shoulder. When nothing seemed to happen, it did it again, only this time on his bare hand.

“Well, whatever it was, it doesn’t seem to work on me,” he grunted.

“You, Alastor, are not Lord Voldemort,” Dumbledore stated lightly.

“Really. And exactly what is it about Potter that makes his skin so dangerous to _him_?” Moody asked.

“Once again, all I can offer is conjecture and theories,” Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling over his half-moon spectacles.

“Albus, if you’re going to keep that up, we’re going to be having some serious words,” Moody stated, pointing a crooked finger at the Headmaster.

“And you didn’t answer my question,” Sirius interrupted. “How can the Dark Tosser still be alive?”

“There are a great many rituals and dark magics that Tom could have delved into,” Dumbledore replied. “However, as to which one it was, while I have some ideas, without further proof, all I can do is hypothesise.”

“And let me guess, you’d rather not say if you don’t know for sure,” Moody stated sarcastically.

Dumbledore’s answer was a simple enigmatic smile.

“And when will you know for sure,” Moody pressed.

“While I do have some lines of research that I can look into, I have no way of knowing precisely how long they might take,” Dumbledore replied.

“Albus, a task shared is a task halved,” Amelia pointed out. “Tell us what you’re researching and maybe between us we can get the job done that much faster.”

“Research _is_ one of an Unspeakable’s primary jobs,” Croaker stated from inside his shadowed hood.

“Perhaps, perhaps,” Dumbledore replied, sitting back in his chair.

Moody’s eyes narrowed at the Headmaster. Suddenly, he stood.

“This is a waste of my time. Albus, until you’re ready to share what you know to make our job that much easier, it’s pointless for the rest of us to be here.”

With that, he stomped across the room, grabbed up a fistful of FLOO powder, threw it in and disappeared in a whirl of green flames.

“He has a point, Albus,” Croaker stated. Turning, he faced the others seated on the same side of the desk as he was. “I will see what I can dig up within my Department and I’ll be in contact.”

After a nod, he too, was gone.

“I’d say that’s our cue,” Sirius stated, indicating for Harry and Amelia to follow him.

Within minutes, the three of them had FLOO-ed away. Harry’s last glimpse of the Headmaster’s office was as Auror Shaklebolt was waiting for his turn to use the FLOO while Dumbledore remained sitting serenely behind his desk.


	8. Chapter 8

The instant that the flames died down, Albus was out of his seat, his turquoise and silver robes flaring behind him in his haste to cross the room.

Most of the objects that filled the small spindly tables scattered throughout his office were magical in nature, each one having a particular function. Many of them were unique, having been charmed personally by Albus himself, thus making them incredibly rare, and, he was sure, priceless.

It was to one particular table that he focused on, the objects of which were all related to Harry Potter. Many of them were still and silent now, a by-product of Harry being away from either the castle, Privet Drive or from Albus’ influence for too long. There were a couple, though, which still functioned

Almost by magic, his wand appeared in his hand and Albus used it to gently tap the side of a silver one that a normal person could be excused from thinking was a teapot. In response to his tap, and the fact that Harry had been in close proximity to it quite recently, smoke began to stream out of its spout and Albus nodded his head.

Where once the smoke that issued from this instrument came in two streams, one a grey so dark that it was almost black, the other a pale, pale green, twisting and turning about each other as the smoke rose, there was now only a single deep green stream of smoke.

“It is as I thought, then,” Albus murmured to himself. “Tom’s influence has been cleansed from the boy.”

A second tap was enough to cause the smoke to peter out and Albus absently made his way back to his chair behind his desk.

The loss of Tom’s horcrux from within Harry bore much thinking about – for Albus knew that the boy was, or at least had been, a horcrux. It was a vile, revolting from of magic. That any person would even research the dark magic that focussed on splitting one’s very soul was troubling enough but to make one was near unimaginable. But the path to immortality was a lure that had caused more than one wizard throughout the centuries to become ensnared. Indeed, from what little Albus had read, the ancient Egyptian wizards were particularly enamoured with the practice.

But for Tom, who Albus still saw as that small, proud, eleven-year-old boy sitting in the orphanage that he’d grown up in, it seemed that the lure was beyond imagining. _This_ was now confirmation that two of Tom’s horcruxes had been destroyed and by the very fact that Tom was still alive, Albus knew that there had to be more.

A glance at the fireplace had Albus contemplating the meeting that had just been had in his office.

Each person who had been there brought unique skills and knowledge to the group and together, Albus knew that they could be formidable. But that very strength needed to be tapered, guided in what was best for the wizarding world. There was a war on and wars inevitably led to conflict and conflict led to deaths. Albus had now seen two magical wars in his lifetime, the first brought about by Gellert, the second by Tom. And in each of them, far, far too many witches, wizards and lines had been snuffed out. Hogwarts itself was a prime example of this. Where once her halls had teemed with near a thousand students and staff, now there were barely four hundred, a loss of more than half.

Ideally, the war that Tom had just declared needed to be ended quickly, and without the loss of too many lives. The question then became, how to do that.

Oh, Albus knew _how_ the war would end, the prophesy told as much. But for the last fifteen years, he was certain that it meant that young Harry Potter must die at Tom’s hand, thus eliminating that horcrux, weakening Tom and allowing Albus to step in and finally correct one of his greatest mistakes.

But now, things may have changed. Oh, Albus was certain that the war wouldn’t end until Tom and Harry faced off, but the path to victory was less clear.

The information that he held, particularly in regard to both the prophecy and horcruxes, would definitely lead to the end of the war. The question that Albus now faced was how much of it was it best to share?

To tell the prophesy would only incite Alastor, Sirius and Amelia into training a young, innocent boy for war, thus depriving him of his remaining childhood. And as for the knowledge of horcruxes, well, the less people who knew about them, the less could be tempted down that long, dark road. If Algeron had that knowledge, there was little doubt that he and his fellow Unspeakables would spend decades attempting to unravel every facet of the magic that they could.

Once more he glanced to the fireplace where he’d last seen the others. They’d be back, of course they would, after all, he was Albus Dumbledore and they knew that he had an enormous amount of knowledge and power. Yes, they’d be back to learn from him and for him to guide them in the best way through the war.

But until then, he had the time to decide how much it was safe to share.

-oOoOo-

Mike and Susan Evans were seated on the deck overlooking the racetrack. Up here gave the perfect overview. There weren’t many spots of the winding three-and-a-half-kilometre track that couldn’t be seen from this vantage point. And when you added in the fact that they were sitting under an umbrella with a tall drink in their hands, it really was the perfect spot to be.

The one thing that really deterred from the potentially relaxing atmosphere was the fact that their son was in one of the motorised go carts on the track and not just in it, but _driving_ it!

In fact, the track was filled with teen and preteen drivers.

The entire complex had been booked out by Sirius Black, the godfather of Mike’s cousin Harry, as a massive birthday party. Not only was it Harry’s birthday today, but his friend Neville’s birthday had been yesterday and when it was discovered that their son Mark’s birthday was in two days, his was added in to the mix as well.

Consequently, there were somewhere in the vicinity of twenty kids here, not to mention all of the adults as well.

Everyone was invited to drive although there were a few, like Susan, who flatly refused to. Mike had already done a few laps and was currently having a break.

“Hi, Mike and Susan, right?” a woman interrupted their watching and worrying.

“Yes, that’s right,” Susan said, looking up. “And you’re … Emily?”

“Close. Emma. I’m Hermione’s mum,” she corrected with a smile. “Mind if I join you?”

“Please,” Susan said, gesturing to one of the remaining seats at their table.

“Best remember that name,” Mike said, nudging his wife’s shoulder playfully. “With how my cousin is with Hermione, we’ll be family before too long.”

“Please don’t let my husband hear you say that,” Emma begged with a smile. “He loves Harry but even still, it took him a long time to get used to the idea that his baby girl was dating. The thought of her marrying could give him a heart attack.”

Mike held up his hand. “Far be it for me to cause health issues for a fellow father.” He glanced out at the track where _his_ baby, Melody, was somewhere out there growing up far too fast. “Thinking about it, I think that I can empathise.”

“So how are you fitting in to our little community?” Emma asked.

“It’s taken a little bit, but not as much as it could have,” Susan replied. “I think it’s helped being able to put a label on what our kids have been doing for all these years.”

“Magic. Who would have guessed?” Mike agreed with a shake of his head.

“Yes, I can still remember the relief that I felt when Minerva told us that Hermione was magical and that all of the weird things that she’d been doing was normal,” Emma agreed.

“And everyone here seems really nice, both the adults and all of the kids,” Susan said.

“They are. Every one of them is lovely,” Emma smiled momentarily before it faltered. “It’s just a shame that you had to join the magical community at the same time that a magical war has broken out.”

“Yeah,” Mike agreed darkly. “Harry’s been good there, though, explaining everything to us. And he’s promised me that Diricawl is one of the safest places in Britain at the moment.”

“With what Dan and Sirius have explained to me about the magical protections that they and the goblins have put in place, I believe it,” Emma stated.

“And Harry’s given us a special device to use if we’re ever in any danger,” he continued, holding up his portkey watch. “He’s also said that if it looks as though we’re likely to be in any danger, that he’ll move us somewhere safer, either to one of his properties or even to the school.”

“Actually, I wanted to speak to the two of you about that,” Emma admitted.

Susan and Mike shared a look before focussing intently on the other woman.

“Harry tells me that you’re high school teachers?” Emma asked.

“Yes, we are. I teach primarily English with some History thrown in, while Mike teaches Physical Education and Shop,” Susan confirmed.

“English, really?” Emma asked, hope clear in her voice. “Only I’ve been doing my best with that subject with the kids, but it’s all that I can do to keep up with them. Don’t get me wrong, I love my Shakespeare and can talk about it all day if you get me going, but there’s so many other parts to the subject as well.”

“Oh, there are,” Susan agreed. “And I absolutely love Shakespeare as well. What’s your favourite?”

“A Midwinter’s Tale,” Emma replied.

“Thus, Hermione,” Susan commented. “For me, it’s the tragedies. Hamlet, Macbeth, you name it.”

“I take it there’s a reason that you brought up the fact that we’re teachers in a conversation about the school?” Mike asked shrewdly, cutting off what looked to be the beginnings of a Shakespeare appreciation marathon dominated conversation.

Emma smiled wryly at the man. “Are you sure that you don’t teach mathematics, putting one and one together like that? No, you’re right, there is a reason.”

“Before you go any further, I’ll remind you that our daughter is only eight and won’t be able to attend Diricawl for another few years,” Mike said.

“That’s okay,” Emma smiled. “For what I’m thinking, I think that we can work with that. Assuming you’re interested, of course.”

“We’re listening,” Mike assured her.

-oOoOo-

The large group of adults and teens that emerged from the magical entryway into Diagon Alley were all talking and laughing so much that they were barely paying any attention to their surroundings. It took a shrill whistle from Sirius to shut the teens up and to get the entire group to look at him. Seeing this, he promptly gestured to the one that had been wanting their attention in the first place.

Minerva cast a stern eye over the group before her. It was the holidays, so she couldn’t reprimand them too much, but even still, they were here for a purpose, a purpose that meant that they were representing Diricawl Academy to the public.

This was no more evident than in the fact that every one of the eight teens before her were wearing a brand new dark green t-shirt, the golden Diricawl Acadeny logo on their left breast and the name of the school emblazoned in gold letters on their back. Some, like Hannah, Susan and Lil with their berets and Harry and Neville with their black cargo pants, were also dressed in other items of clothing that would help people in the Alley to instantly know where they were from.

“You should all have your posters and brochures,” Minerva began and smiled slightly when she saw Hermione tap her brown Diricawl satchel at her side. “Remember to be polite and courteous. If the owner says ‘no’ then respect their decision and move on. This is primarily your task, although the adults will also be asking shopkeepers in the stores that they need to go into as well.

“We’ll meet in from of Gringotts at twelve. Does everyone understand? Good. Then, off you go.”

Instantly, the eight teens separated into pairs and scampered off into the crowd.

“I really hope that someone besides Hermione does Flourish and Blotts,” Emma commented. “Otherwise that’ll be the last we’ll see of her for the day.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much, Emma. Besides, she’s not the only one that has a tendency to get caught up in that place – my Daphne has the same tendency,” Penelope Greengrass pointed out.

“Neville can be the same, except in a greenhouse,” Augusta agreed.

“Well, it won’t look good if we’re late to meet the kids at twelve,” Sirius pointed out. “Best get to our tasks as well.

With a nod, the six adults separated, each with a list in their hand and a stack of shrunken posters and brochures in their pockets.

-oOoOo-

“Good morning, Madam Malkin,” Hermione greeted in her most polite voice.

“Good morning, Dearie,” the witch in question replied. “Are you after some new robes? It’s just that I’m still a day or two away from having the Diricawl robes ready; I’m afraid I’ve been swamped getting the Hogwarts stock ready first.”

“No, that’s okay, Madam Malkin, we’re not here to buy our school robes today,” Hermione replied.

“Then what can I help you both with?” she asked, looking between the two teens in front of her.

“We were wondering if you would mind displaying some advertising material for Diricawl Academy?” Harry asked.

“You see, we have no way of knowing who the new first year muggleborns are like Hogwarts does. And we were hoping that we could let them know about their schooling options when they came in here,” Hermione explained.

Madam Malkin’s brow furrowed.

“I can see how it’d be useful for people to be able to decide what they think’d be best for their children’s education,” she mused. “What sort of advertising are we talking about?”

Hermione instantly flipped the flap of her book bag back and stuck her hand inside.

“We have some brochures,” she said, pulling out a small booklet and handing one over, “that we thought we could leave in a stack on your counter? And also, if we could place a poster in your window, that’d be really helpful.”

The poster that she held up was gold, trimmed in green with black writing on it. The logo and name of the school were large and prominent near the top. Under it, it told those interested that Diricawl offered a diverse curriculum for its students, catering for both magical as well as mundane subjects. At the bottom was the name of the Headmistress and the fact that a letter could be sent to the school free of charge from the local owl post office and that a representative of the school would meet with them at their earliest convenience.

Harry and Hermione waited patiently as Madam Malkin flicked through the school’s brochure. They watched as the pages outlining the teachers and subjects and facilities passed until the little book was closed.

“This is quite good,” a surprised sounding Madam Malkin remarked. “Hogwarts could do with something like this, as well. Well, I don’t see the harm in it. You can leave a stack of these on the counter here and you can place your poster in the corner of the window.”

“Thank you so much,” Hermione smiled, digging into her bag.

“Yes, thank you,” Harry echoed as he took the poster and headed towards the window.

Their first stop was a success. Soon, with a little luck, the green and gold of Diricawl would be spread all over Diagon Alley.

-oOoOo-

“I’ll have Dobby and Olan come by later today to transport those boxes back to Diricawl,” Minerva was saying as she and Beth Pemberton ascended the stairs from the basement of _Hermione’s Book Nook._

“No rush, Minerva,” Beth replied, “I’ve got plenty of space here. And I’ve heard rumours of a possible sale coming up next week in France. If I can get there, I’ll see what I can get and any doubles or volumes that I don’t think I’ll be able to sell here, I’ll add to the consignment for the school.”

“Make sure you invoice us this time,” Minerva said sternly. “I dislike having to go to Mister Potter in order to find out how much you’ve been spending on the school so that I can pay you. And it’s not like we don’t have the funds to pay for books, you know.”

Beth chuckled. “No, you can be sure that I won’t forget. Although it is amusing to watch Harry dance around the subject of finances. He tends to leave that part of his share in the business to Slipshard and he gets flustered when he’s got to do it himself. Especially when I’ve been his teacher as well that day.”

The _Book Nook_ was coming into its busy time of the year with students beginning to swarm the Alley for the holidays and school supplies. Thus, when they emerged onto the main level, it was to see a swirl of people browsing the shelves and even more heading up and down from the mezzanine level. Every chair in the café part of the business also looked to be occupied.

“How are you off for Diricawl brochures?” Minerva asked as they approached the main counter.

“Last I looked, I think I still had half a dozen or so,” Beth replied.

“Hmm,” Minerva mused, looking around the busy store. “Mightn’t be a bad idea for you to have a few more.”

So saying, she dug into one of her pockets and pulled out an extra dozen miniature booklets. A single tap of her wand returned them to normal size.

“Excuse me,” a timid voice interrupted.

Minerva turned to find a young-looking woman in muggle clothes standing off to one side. Almost hidden behind her was a small boy with large protruding ears. A man, clearly her husband, stood nearby, a young girl in his arms.

“I’m sorry to intrude, but it sounded like you might know about this school?” the woman continued, holding up one of the Diricawl brochures.

Minerva smiled at her. “I do, indeed. I am actually the Headmistress of Diricawl Academy. My name is Minerva McGonagall.”

“Megan Abercrombie,” the woman replied. “This is my husband Geoff, our daughter Tina and our son Euan.”

“It’s nice to meet you all,” Minerva said, before focussing on the boy. “I take it, Mister Abercrombie, that you received a letter from Hogwarts?”

The boy nodded nervously before a nudge from his mother prompted him to speak up.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Is this your first time in the magical world?” she asked, taking an educated guess.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Euan replied.

“We didn’t even know that there were other schools,” Megan stated. “The man who came to deliver the letter didn’t really say a lot.” She leaned in and whispered the next part. “He seemed a bit sour, to be honest.”

Minerva’s eyes closed in exasperation. What Dumbledore was thinking sending Severus Snape to introduce muggleborns to wizarding society she couldn’t fathom. It was bad enough that he’d made the man Deputy Headmaster after her resignation.

“This brochure mentions that Euan could continue his normal education as well as learn magic?” Euan’s father spoke up for the first time.

“Indeed, he could, if he were to attend Diricawl,” Minerva confirmed. “We’re a new school, but we feel that we have a lot to offer and we feel that giving students only a magical education would be doing them a great disservice.”

“Will the other school, Hogwarts, let Euan continue his normal subjects?” Megan asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Minerva replied. “Hogwarts teaches a more traditional curriculum, which only focusses on the magical side of a child’s education.”

The two elder Abercombies shared a look that seemed to speak volumes.

“We’d be very interested in hearing more about Diricawl school,” Megan said.


	9. Chapter 9

“Thank you all for coming,” Minerva began as she strode into the room.

The great dining hall of Diricawl Academy wasn’t filled by any stretch of the imagination. But with the current fourteen students, their families and most of their staff in attendance, it was nowhere near empty.

“Firstly, I’d like to thank those of you who came to Diagon Alley with me yesterday and also to those in the small group that went to Hogsmeade,” the Headmistress continued. “While we did not achieve total success, I believe that there are now enough posters and booklets throughout various shops and in shop windows to serve as a starting point in attracting new students.”

A small round of applause echoed throughout the room and Minerva allowed it to peter out naturally before continuing.

“Today, our task is to determine exactly who we should send personal letters of invitation to in order to invite them to join us here at Diricawl as students.”

A small murmur swept through the room as all – and particularly the students – whispered comments to each other.

“Each person we invite will receive a letter and one of our prospectuses,” she explained. “Hopefully between that and the open day that we will have here ten days from now, it will be enough to help both the students and their parents make an informed decision about whether it is in the student’s best interest to come here or to stay at their current educational institution.”

“That’s easy! Come here,” a voice called out, eliciting laughter all around.

“Regardless of our feelings, Mister Pemberton, we must allow everyone to make their own choice,” Minerva smiled.

“Now, before we get to specific names, the staff know this, but it needs to be stated anyway,” Remus continued, stepping up beside the Headmistress. “Diricawl is set up to handle, at most, one hundred and thirty-two students. That means only nineteen for six of the year levels and only eighteen in the other one.”

“Is it any particular year level that has the one less student?” Hermione asked.

“No, it can be any, as long as there is at least one that does,” Remus replied. “Following on from that, it needs to be kept in mind that we already have nine of you going into fifth year; three of you going into fourth year; two of you into second year; and, with Harry’s cousin, Mark, one already enrolled into first year.”

“We actually have two for first year,” Minerva corrected. “I met a muggleborn family in Diagon Alley yesterday that I spent most of the afternoon with and they have enrolled their son, Euan, to come here. I’ll show you the paperwork later.”

Remus nodded to her before turning to face the larger group.

“That gives us sixteen confirmed enrolments out of the one hundred and thirty-two potential slots that we have. It is not essential that we fill all of those beds, in fact I’d be astonished if we did.”

“I have also retained a list of every person who sent me a letter last year requesting that they be allowed to join Diricawl,” Minerva stated. “But seeing as most of you know these students personally, we felt that you would have a better idea of who would fit into the Diricawl mindset the best.”

“Fred and George Weasley,” Harry immediately called out.

Minerva nodded and noted that Emma, who was taking notes on the meeting, was jotting the names down.

“Yes, I spoke to the two of them last year and have promised them spaces at the school,” she said, “along with Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and Lee Jordan. Assuming, of course that they all still wish to attend. It will be nice to have my old quidditch team back together, I must say. That group will make five seventh years and a sixth year. The question then becomes: Fred and George are not the only school-aged Weasleys. Does anyone see any problem with extending that invitation to Ronald and Ginevra?”

“Ginny was always my friend, we’ve always played together,” Luna remarked.

Harry, Hermione and Neville were all looking at each other and it took the combined staring of the two boys before Hermione sighed and turned to the Headmistress.

“Ron does not possess a … studious nature and can be a bit thick at times,” she said hesitantly. “But if you’re going to invite his siblings, then it’s be only right to invite him as well.”

“Thank you, Hermione, that echoes my thoughts exactly,” Minerva nodded.

“I think most of our former Hufflepuffs would be good choices,” Lil shrugged.

“Not Zach or Wayne,” Susan countered, with Hannah nodding vehemently. “They’re both a bit up themselves.”

“As a former Ravenclaw here, I would have to vouch for most of my former house,” Luna said. “Ravenclaws are smart. They’ll go where they can learn the most.”

“I would have to agree with Miss Lovegood,” Professor Flitwick squeaked from the side where he was hovering in his wheelchair. “There are only a few that would not make good candidates. I can look over your list later and highlight those names if they appear if you like.”

“Thank you, Filius, that would be greatly appreciated,” Minerva nodded.

“Don’t bother with any of the Slytherins,” Tracey stated. “Most of them are purebloods and the few who aren’t pretend that they are. None of them would want to come anywhere near a school with so many non-pureblood students or staff – they’d probably die of shock if they did.”

“In that case, can you send Malfoy a gold-plated invite?” Daphne asked, earning her a sharp reprimand from her parents and laughter from everyone else who’d ever had any dealings with the Malfoy family.

“Dobby, Nerri, if you could hand out some paper and pens to everyone, please?” Minerva asked, causing the two elves to jump into action.

“If we could get each of you to write down the name of any student, from any year level, that you believe we should invite, please? We will then collate them and check them against the lists of those who sent me a letter last year and send out our letters accordingly,” Minerva stated.

“We will, of course, not be sending out any more than what we need to make up to eighteen in each year level,” Remus added, but it was unknown how many actually heard this as there were heads bent together across the room as people were discussing who they should add to their lists.

-oOoOo-

“You can do this, Harry,” Hermione murmured into his ear, her head twisted around so that her mouth was close to his ear. “You’ve been training for months now and everyone who’s watched you has no doubt that today’s your day.”

Harry squeezed her a little tighter. The two were currently lying down, cuddled up on one of the couches of the common room together. They’d been that way for a while, not that they’d started that way.

It’d started with Harry getting in some last-minute meditation to ensure that he was ready for what was to come. Hermione, for her part, had been reading. Somehow during the course of their time together, they’d slipped down until Harry’s back was pressed against the back of the chair and his chest was against Hermione’s back, one arm draped over her.

It wasn’t often that they got to spend time like this together, especially with no one else around and they were making the most of it. Really, with how relaxed he was after meditating and now being cuddled up with Hermione, Harry felt that he could easily fall asleep. It was only the danger of what Sirius would do to them if he found them vulnerable like that that kept the last vestiges of sleep at bay.

“It’s not that, ’Mione,” he replied. “I know I can do it. It’s what Sirius and Remus are going to come up with as a name. You’ve heard them going on about it for months now and you know as well as I do that whatever they decide upon is going to stick.”

Harry could feel her smile. “Don’t worry so much about it, Harry, I think I’ve headed off anything _too_ bad.”

Harry lifted his head to get a better look at his girlfriend.

“What’d you do?” he asked.

Unfortunately, Hermione was prevented from answering by the arrival of the two men in question, accompanied by both Minerva and Tonks.

“Ohh, how cute,” Sirius said in a falsely-sweet voice.

Instantly, the two teens hastened to sit up.

“Sirius!” Minerva admonished and her fellow animagus instantly closed his mouth, no doubt saving up his comments for later when his old teacher wasn’t around.

“Hey, Tonks, I didn’t know you were going to be here today,” Harry said.

“Wotcher, Harry, Hermione,” Tonks replied. “Couldn’t let my one and only student go into this without me, now could I? Besides, I don’t think there’s ever been a metamorphmagus attempting to do what you’re doing and if something goes wrong, you might need me here to talk you back to normal. Well, as normal as one of us gets.”

In response, Harry changed his hair to match the short bubble-gum pink of Tonks’.

“Thanks, Tonks, but nothing’s going to go wrong; I’ve been practicing for nearly half a year now,” he said, returning his hair to its natural colour and messy state.

“Very well, Mister Potter, as you are so confident, shall we begin?” Minerva asked.

In response, Harry moved into a central space with the others loosely circled around him.

“We have all seen you perform this numerous times,” Minerva said. “Think of today as a final confirmation that you have finished learning this particularly obscure branch of magic.”

“Yep, time to graduate and become an animagus, Harry,” Sirius said, rubbing his hands together. “Your father would be so proud.”

“And once you ‘graduate’ you’ll receive your animagus name, just as all proper animagi should,” Remus smiled, a canary-eating grin plastered on his face.

At that Minerva visibly bristled. “Are you saying that _I_ am not a proper animagus since I do not have one of your silly names?”

Sirius and Remus shared identical guilty looks.

“No, no, we’re not saying that,” Remus backpedalled, waving his hands in front of him as if to ward her off.

“It wouldn’t be true, anyway,” Sirius stated, before his eyes widened as he realised what he’d said.

Minerva’s eyes narrowed. “The only way that wouldn’t be true would be if I wasn’t an animagus, which we all know I am, or if … did you lot _give me_ one of your foolish names?”

The answer to that was painted on Remus and Sirius’ faces.

“It … it was James’ idea,” Sirius blurted.

“You’re going to blame my _dead father_ to try to get yourselves out of trouble?” Harry asked indignantly.

“No, no, of course not, Harry,” Sirius replied quickly.

“What my esteemed colleague meant to say was that it was _Peter_. Yes, it was Peter that came up with it,” Remus tried.

“Really?” a clearly disbelieving Minerva deadpanned. “And what in Merlin’s name was this name that you four gave me?”

“Felicity?” Sirius replied in as small a voice as he could manage.

“Felicity? What kind of name is that?” Minerva asked. “Admittedly, though, it isn’t as bad as it could be.”

“If I know my cousin like I think I do, and if I was you, I’d be asking him to tell you the story _behind the name_ ,” Tonks suggested, her shoulders shaking as she suppressed the laughter at the situation in front of her.

“Traitor! I should disown you!” Sirius hissed.

“The story. Now!” Minerva demanded.

Harry was certain that that particular tone of voice and Look had been used on the Marauders so often in the past that it was almost automatic for them to respond.

“Your name’s Minerva,” Sirius began. “Which can be shortened to Minnie. And Lily once showed us some muggle cartoons with some mice in it called Mickey and Minnie. And in one of those cartoons was a cat called Felix and well, we couldn’t call you _that_ because Felix is a boy’s name. So, we went with the female version: Felicity.”

“That’s it? That’s the whole story? I’m named after a muggle cartoon cat?” Minerva asked, staring at the two men. “I’m not sure whether to be insulted or relieved to be honest.”

“Relieved, go with relieved,” Sirius suggested quickly.

“We’ll discuss this more later,” Minerva threatened. “For now, though we’re here to induct another member into our number.”

“Good luck, Harry,” Hermione said, giving him a quick kiss.

“Thanks. Just remember that this’ll be you and the others by this time next year,” Harry replied.

“Whenever you’re ready, lover boy,” Sirius teased.

Ignoring his godfather, Harry centred himself and focussed inward. A second or so later, he was looking up at the world around him and his sense of smell had gone through the roof.

“No clothes left behind,” Remus remarked. “And all of his body parts look right.”

To prove that he’d put himself together correctly, Harry scampered around the room for a minute, making sure to get close enough to Tonks to have her skittering backwards and falling over the chair behind her. A tiny barking cough-like laugh betrayed that he’d meant to do that.

“Alright, Harry, enough fun for now. Time to change back,” Sirius said.

And an instant later, a fully clothed Harry was standing back where he started from.

“Changing with my wand is easy. Can’t do it with my staff, though,” he confessed.

“I would assume that the magical focus within the staff itself would be too much for the magic of the animagus transformation to handle,” Minerva stated. “The fact that you can do it perfectly with your clothing and your wand is sufficient to say that you are a fully-fledged animagus.”

“Not yet, he’s not,” Sirius interjected. “Not until he’s been named.”

“Mister Moony would like to know if Mister Padfoot would like to do the honours?” Remus asked in that formal speech that the two Marauders sometimes dropped into.

“Mister Padfoot thanks Mister Moony for the opportunity and would dearly love to name his godson, providing that Miss Felicity does not wish for the honour herself?” Sirius replied cheekily.

Harry nearly fainted when he saw the tiny smile on Minerva’s face and stumbled slightly when he heard her reply.

“Miss Felicity thanks Mister Padfoot but is content to defer at this time.”

It took Sirius’ vocal chords a few seconds to catch up to his flapping mouth. In the end, he gave a slight bow in her direction and turned to Harry.

“Mister Padfoot recognises the son of the late Mister Prongs as a full animagus and inducts him into the brotherhood of the Marauders, with the name of … Tavi,” Sirius declared.

Harry tried the name out in his head a few times and it only took him a second to place its significance. Flashing Hermione a slight smile, he turned to face the two old Marauders and bowed.

“Mister Tavi thanks Mister Padfoot for the name and delightfully joins Mister Padfoot and Mister Moony in the brotherhood of the Marauders,” he said.

“If you clowns are finished,” an amused Tonks broke in, “there’s still the question of registration?”

“No,” Harry declared flatly. “Not now. Once the war is over, sure, but an ace like this up my sleeve isn’t something that I’m willing to give up in a hurry.”

“That’s our thoughts as well, Tavi,” Sirius said with a grin. “Glad we’re all in agreement.”

“In that case, I was never here,” Tonks declared. “What kind of auror would I be if I saw this and failed to report it?”

“Knew there was a reason I kept you in the family, Cousin,” Sirius replied.

An instant later, a mongoose, a cat and a dog were all chasing each other around the room, while the other three looked on laughing.

-oOoOo-

The sight of an owl soaring into the dining room of Diricawl Academy was unusual but not unheard of. Any enchantment on a letter or package would instantly be nullified as it crossed the school wards making it safe for letters to be delivered. But the fact that school on the island had yet to start and that letters to the staff were directed to a central point for the elves to deliver to the respective offices, meant that the only time an owl usually came into the dining room was when Hedwig came to visit Harry.

This, though, was a common barn owl, not a majestic snowy owl, making its appearance all the more noteworthy.

After relieving the owl of its burden, Harry fed it a strip of bacon and watched it take off and flap its way out of the room.

“We’ll be having visitors soon,” Harry remarked after a single glance at the back of the envelope.

Minerva and Remus shared a knowing look.

The three of them were the only humans currently at the school. There was also Chert, but he stayed in his security building most of the time, having carved out a suitable underground dwelling for himself beneath the building. And also the elves, but they were always busy cleaning and doing what was needed to get the school ready for the coming year.

Everyone else had their own homes to go to, both the students and the rest of the staff, permanent and itinerant.

“Should I call Sirius?” Remus asked.

Harry shrugged. “Up to you. It’s only my OWL results. If you think he’d want to be here for that, you can call him.”

There had been five of them that had taken an OWL examination (or two, in Hermione’s case) at the end of last year. Madam Marchbanks had taken a bit of convincing to administer it, actually, not so much because of Harry, Hermione and Hannah, who were all fourth years at the time. No, the problem stemmed from the Creevey brothers. The fact that one was a third year and the other a first year had the ancient examiner balking. First years, particularly, were not supposed to be able to take an OWL exam, let alone do well in it.

After the exams were over the five had promised each other that they would only open their results together.

It was barely half an hour later that the five students had gathered in the main common room of the student dormitories of Diricawl Academy. But they weren’t alone. All of their parents were also gathered around them, with Sirius and Remus standing in for Harry, as well as their Headmistress.

“So who goes first?” a nervous-sounding Hannah asked.

“I vote Harry, he’s already done this before,” Colin piped up.

Harry rolled his eyes, “we could all just open them at the same time,”

Eyes darted about among the five before nods were tentatively given. The sound of envelopes being ripped open filled the silent room before the silence descended once again as eyes roved over parchment.

“So, who goes first?” Hannah asked again, eliciting laughter from everyone there.

“Youngest to oldest?” Hannah tried again.

“Oldest to youngest!” Dennis vehemently countered.

“Doesn’t bother me, either way I’m in the middle,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair against Hermione. From this position, he could _almost_ see his girlfriend’s results.

“Well, if it doesn’t bother you, then you can go first,” Hermione told him. “And stop trying to see my results!”

This, too, brought laughter from those gathered.

“Alright, alright,” Harry grumbled. Rustling his parchment, he looked it over once more before looking up at those around him. “Exceeds Expectations in History of Magic.”

“Great work, Harry, knew you had it in you!” Sirius exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Yes, very well done,” Hermione smiled, leaning across to kiss him on the cheek.

“Your turn, dear,” Harry replied cheekily.

“History of Magic, outstanding; Muggle Studies, Outstanding,” Hermione declared.

“Two Outstandings! That’s brilliant, Hermione. Congratulations,” Harry exclaimed pulling her in for a hug and kissing her cheek.

“Well done, dear,” Emma and Dan chorused before getting in their turn to hug their daughter.

“My turn, I guess,” Hannah said. “Outstanding!”

“Oh, congratulations Hannah, well done!” her parents gushed.

Colin and Dennis shared a look with each other before bursting out at the exact same time, “I got an Outstanding in Muggle Studies, too!”

Excited congratulations wafted around the room for a time before Minerva gathered their attention.

“The five of you have caused quite a stir in the Department of Magical Education and in the Wizarding Examination Authority,” she declared. “Harry last year getting an Outstanding in Muggle Studies was declared a fluke, but for all five of you to have done so, and especially you, Dennis, has a lot of questions being asked.

“They’ve been pulling data for the last week and have finally come to the conclusion that muggleborns or muggle-raised who took that particular OWL have always achieved an Outstanding result. It’s been the pure-bloods or half-bloods raised in the magical world who have achieved lesser results that have hidden the fact that there is something seriously wrong with the Muggle Studies OWL examination.

“Consequently, Diricawl has been tasked with submitting a mock examination that our Muggle Studies teachers and muggle staff feel would be appropriate.”

Murmurs of disbelief and awe swept the few in the room, stopped only by Minerva’s raised hand.

“That’s not to say that that examination will be adopted,” she continued. “It will simply be used by the Wizarding Examination Authority as something for them to use to check against their own revisions of the subject.

“In any case, congratulations to you all. You thoroughly deserve the results you have achieved.

“Not to mention that you’ve just upped Diricawl’s reputation by a massive amount,” Sirius added.


	10. Chapter 10

“Thank you for seeing me today, Slipshard,” Harry said as he bowed to the goblin.

“It is what I’m here for, Harry,” Slipshard replied, indicating that Harry take a seat in front of his desk. “Besides, managing the Potter accounts has always proved interesting and challenging, something no self-respecting goblin would ever shy away from.”

Harry gave a lopsided grin in response to the feral pointed one from his friend.

“What is it that I can do for you today?” Slipshard asked.

“I’d like to make some decisions about the land across from Ynys Crochenydd,” Harry stated.

In response, Slipshard pulled a folder sitting to the side of his desk across so that it sat in front of him.

“I anticipated your desire,” the wily goblin remarked.

Opening the folder, he removed a single piece of parchment and passed it across.

“The survey of the land as you requested. To summarise: the land encompasses two hundred and fifty acres, including just under three kilometres of coastline. For the most part, it is desolate, undeveloped land, apart from one small section of forty acres that appears to have at one time been farmland. There are no buildings or structures apart from the single pier that you are already aware of. In terms of wards, there is only a single muggle-repelling ward,” Slipshard said.

Harry’s eyes scanned down the page, his finger tapping on the part that mentioned the old farmland. That could be useful.

“How hard would it be to develop?” he asked.

“Depending on what you had in mind, not hard at all,” Slipshard replied. “Magic is, after all, very useful.”

Harry nodded absently, before digging into his pocket and pulling out a slightly crumpled piece of paper. Flattening it out, he lay it on the desk in front of him. After scribbling a quick note on it, he looked up.

“I’ve written a few ideas of what I’d like to do with land, if it’s possible, of course,” he said.

A single clawed hand waved for him to continue.

“As I’ve said before, primarily, I’d like a hotel of some kind that parents could stay in if they come to visit their kids at the school. It’d need a dedicated FLOO with direct access to the island, of course, and probably a restaurant of some kind as well? And a road system connected to it from the muggle road system, of course.”

Slipshard pulled out half a dozen pieces of parchment and lay them side by side across his desk for Harry to see.

“You have mentioned this before,” the goblin said. “I took the liberty of having the dwarves draw up some designs, based on similar things they have done in other locations around the world.”

“How many people can these hold?” Harry asked.

“The number of occupants can be varied from a couple of dozen up to many hundreds, depending upon what you require,” Slipshard replied.

“Definitely not that large, probably no more than forty or fifty. I’ll take these with me and get back to you on the one that I like the best,” Harry stated.

“What else did you have in mind?” Slipshard asked.

“I’d like some buildings built that we could rent out as stores – maybe half a dozen to a dozen at most. Some land’ll need to be set aside for people to live in; though for the people who work in the stores and their families, it’d probably make sense to have some apartments built above the stores. Oh, and that old farmland? Could we get it going again and maybe even expand it? We could sell the produce to the school – guaranteed market there,” he said.

“All easy enough to accomplish,” Slipshard said, his quill scratching away as he made notes.

“The last thing on my list is to create an entertainment area for the students to relax in when they get to visit,” Harry said.

“Entertainment area?” Slipshard asked curiously. “And what would this ‘entertainment area’ look like?”

“I’ve got a whole list here,” Harry said, pushing his paper across the desk. “I wanted a mix of magical and muggle, but apart from quidditch, I couldn’t really find anything that magical teens did for fun, so I’ve gone all muggle and hopefully we can magically adapt things to make them run smoother and be even more fun.”

“Ten pin bowling. A cinema. Ice skating rink. Mini golf course. Roller coaster.” Slipshard said, reading through the list.

“I thought the goblins could do a brilliant job with that one,” Harry said excitedly. “After riding your carts down to the vaults, it should be really easy.”

Slipshard stared hard at him for a moment before turning his attention to the list once more.

“I will need to have my people research some of these concepts before I take it all to the dwarves,” Slipshard said. “It may take a couple of months to finalise plans before construction could begin. I believe that these ideas have the potential to generate a great deal of income. It will be interesting to watch and see how right I am.”

“Um, would it be possible to ward the whole area like you did for the island?” Harry asked. “Just, I can’t imagine Voldemort and his Death Munchers liking these ideas too much and I wouldn’t want anyone who lives, works or visits there to be in danger.”

“Warding the whole area as we did on the island would be next to impossible, simply because we were able to sink the wardstones into the sea, thus removing them from the possibility of destruction which we wouldn’t be able to do on the mainland. I will talk to our warders and see what they recommend and report back to you for your decision,” Slipshard replied.

“Thanks, Slipshard, that’d be great,” Harry said with a smile.

-oOoOo-

Molly Weasley emerged from the FLOO and stepped to the side, her eyes watching intently as her brood followed. Ginny came first, stumbling slightly, followed by Ron and then the more confident twins.

The room that they’d found themselves in was comfortable, but slightly bare. There were a few small benches against a few of the walls and a large Diricawl Academy logo painted above on of those walls.

“Good morning and welcome to Diricawl Academy,” a man that Molly only vaguely recognised smiled at them, diverting her attention from her surroundings. “May I see your invitations, please?”

Instantly, the four teens had their cream-coloured letters in their hands to show the man, after all, the letters did state that they would be asked to show them as soon as they arrived.

“Excellent,” the man smiled. “I’m Dan Granger.” The man gestured to a badge attached to his shirt that Molly now realised bore his name. “If you’d like to head that way, you’ll be directed up the school and to Administration where you’ll be directed further.”

Molly opened her mouth to question the man, but the sound of the FLOO activating behind her diverted the man, Dan’s, attention.

“Come on, Mum,” Fred said, waving her along.

“Lots to see and do,” George said.

“And we won’t do it here,” Fred finished.

Her boys had been so very different since they’d been home for the holidays. She didn’t know whether it was the letter that she’d sent them after that betrothal fiasco or the fact that she’d told them that they had her blessing to attend Diricawl Academy if they wanted, but they’d really been putting in an effort to _talk_ to her and not to just disappear into their room with their constant explosions and smells.

The letters for the twins had been expected; the ones for Ginny and Ron, less so, although she’d hoped. To be honest, she still wasn’t sure about whether or not to allow Ginny and Ron to come here. After all, both she and Arthur, not to mention Bill, Charlie and Percy, and every one of her family as far back as the family had been magical, had all been educated at Hogwarts. There’d been numerous Prefects and Head Boys and Girls throughout the centuries, upholding the great traditions of the Weasleys and Prewetts.

But she’d vowed to change, to look at life from the other end of a broomstick as it were. And part of that change involved listening to her children. And if her youngest two decided that they wanted to go here after today, well …

“Welcome,” the goblin who opened the door for them said curtly. “Follow the signs, please.”

“Wicked,” George whispered to his brother. “They’ve got security goblins here.”

Molly nodded to the creature before leading her children out of the small building.

Outside, they found themselves on a cobblestone path, lined with hedges full of flowers in red, pink and gold. And in the distance stood what could have easily been a manor. It was three stories of marble and slate with great wings jutting forth on either side. While it wasn’t a castle, it was definitely impressive, nonetheless.

While her children chattered amongst themselves, Molly was busy taking in the scene. The landscaping of the grounds was pristine and orderly, nothing like the homely feeling that the gardens around the Burrow evoked. However, as a school, it was practical.

A small sign pointed the way towards the main entrance, indicating that Administration could be found inside.

The inside, after they’d ascended the small set of stairs and entered the great doors, was just as impressive as the outside. Another sign pointed out that they were to proceed straight ahead. The fact that there was another family group before them gave Molly a chance to take in the great seal of the school done in a mosaic of tiles on the floor as well as the two grand sweeping staircases.

“Next,” a voice called.

“Um, I’m Molly Weasley and these are my children: Fred, George, Ron and Ginny Weasley,” she told one of the two ladies behind the counter set between the two staircases.

“Welcome to Diricawl Academy,” she smiled. “I’m Beth, one of the part-time teachers and today, also one of the Reception ladies. We’ll just get you all set up for the day. This is for you,” here she handed a folder of some kind, filled with muggle paper. “And each of you get a name tag, that way we and everyone else, know who you are.”

A flourish of her wand labelled five of the name badges appropriately. A second spell affixed the labels to the front of each of their robes.

The sudden _pop_ in front of her had Molly’s eyes bulging as a small house elf with enormous green eyes and dressed in a miniature Diricawl uniform, complete with beret, appeared on the desk. It raised one hand, smiled a smile eerily reminiscent of her twin sons, snapped his fingers and promptly disappeared.

The raucous sound of laughter exploding from Fred and George had her spinning to make sure that they were behaving themselves. To her surprise, she found the two pointing at each other and laughing their heads off. Instead of one name tag, they now wore two each. The new ones, though, proclaimed them to be ‘Twin RedHead Menace 1’ and ‘Twin Red-Head Menace 2’.

“I’m so sorry about that,” Beth sighed. “Here, let me remove them.”

Instantly twin hands slapped over the name tags.

“No way!” a horrified George cried.

“Why would you want to …” Fred began.

“Get rid of something as cool …”

“As awesome …”

“As descriptive as that?” they finished together.

“It’s fine, dear,” Molly told her. “I suspect that that little elf has just made their day.”

“Well, if you’re sure, then,” she replied, sounding rather unsure herself.  She seemed to gather herself, then. “When you’re ready, the day will begin in the dining hall.”

“Thank you,” Molly said, and turned towards the door that she pointed to, the one to the right of where they’d entered.

Once again, Molly was caught by the difference between this place and Hogwarts. Instead of four long House tables, Diricawl’s dining hall was filled with approximately twenty circular tables that she thought could each seat eight.

“Right, Mum, we’ll see you later,” Fred said.

“We’ll be with Lee and the girls,” George added before the two hurried off across the room.

Somehow, she managed to keep the other two with her as she moved to one side of the room and took a seat. From what she could tell, there were a large number of muggles here, at least, that was the impression that she had from the fact that people dressed in proper wizard’s robes were in the minority.

“Excuse us, but is anyone sitting here?” a nervous-looking man asked.

“No, no, feel free,” Molly smiled.

The man and his son sat gingerly on their chairs, perching nearly on the very front as though they were ready to jump up and flee if anyone looked at them the wrong way.

“Will this be your first year, dear?” Molly asked the boy.

He looked a bit old to be a first year, but he was wearing very shabby muggle clothes, so she thought that it was a safe guess.

“Er … er … yes?” he replied, his eyes flicking about the room, never staying still for an instant. “I mean, I’ve never been to … to a magic school before.”

“Well, I’m sure that you’re going to have a marvellous time,” Molly tried to reassure the boy. “This is Ron and Ginny.”

“Hi,” the boy returned nervously. “Do … do you go here?”

“We’re considering it,” Ginny told him. “What’s your name?”

“Lionel,” he replied.

The fledgling conversation was interrupted by a tinkling bell at the front of the room. And Molly turned to find Headmistress McGonagall standing behind a lectern.

“I believe that everyone who was coming is now here,” she said. “Welcome to Diricawl Academy of Magical Studies. We are delighted that you could join us for our very first open day.

“Today you will get a chance to see the school, hear about what subjects and teachers we have and to ask any questions that you have of us. Our hope is that at the end of the day, you will decide that Diricawl would be the very best place for you to continue your magical education. If, however, you decide that you would fit better with your current school, then we will respect your choice and wish you well.

“Every member of our staff firmly believes that we are here to help students learn to their best ability and in the best way that they can, regardless of your background, financial status, heritage or past. None of that matters here. No bigotry or prejudice of any kind will be tolerated on this island. That is one of the precepts that Diricawl is founded on and is non-negotiable. To illustrate this point, I would like to point out that currently, our staff consists of pure-bloods, half-bloods, muggle-borns, muggles, a goblin, a part-goblin, a werewolf and house elves.

“The curriculum that we offer is diverse, covering both magical and mundane subjects and even foreign languages, both human and non-human alike. With the number of subjects that we offer, we aim to cater for individual learning pathways for each student as much as possible. Sometimes this may not be possible, after all, we are still a young school and are still finding out feet, but we will do what we can.

“Shortly we will be breaking you up into small groups and will be showing you around the school. But before we do that, seeing as the vast majority of you have been attending Hogwarts, I would like to point out one of the major differences between our two schools. The students of Hogwarts are divided into four Houses, each with a Head of House to oversee them, currently in the vicinity of one hundred or so students.

“Diricawl, as you may have guessed by the seating arrangement here, has no House systems. Instead, the students here will be divided by year level with a Year Level Coordinator to look after them. The most students that each Year Level Coordinator will be responsible for is nineteen, meaning that they will be much more accessible to you and will be able to help you with any problems that you have.

“Yes, Miss Johnson?”

Molly looked across the room at the table where the twins were to see Angelina Johnson putting her hand down.

“What about quidditch and Prefects?” she asked.

Minerva smiled. “Did you honestly think that I would be the Headmistress of a school that _didn’t_ offer quidditch?” This caused a ripple of laughter to sweep the room and even Molly found herself smiling. “No, there is still quidditch and the older students will still get the chance to be a Prefect. Both of these will be explained more fully during the tour.”

At the Headmistress’ gesture, fourteen teens wearing green shirts emblazoned with the school name and logo stepped forward.

“These are the current Diricawl students,” she said. “They, along with any of the staff, will be more than happy to answer any question that you may have. As you can see, they are spreading themselves out around the room in five groups. If you could all please stand and move to the students closest to you, hopefully we’ll end up with five even groups and we can get the day started.

“I will see you all back here for lunch and then again after the tour for a final session where any questions that you still have can be answered.”

Following the instructions, Molly glanced around, only to realise that Ginny was already ahead of her, making a beeline for little Luna Lovegood. Motioning to Ron, Molly bustled after her daughter.

-oOoOo-

Beth waited for the other four groups to make their way from the dining hall before she began speaking.

“For those of you who didn’t get to meet me when you arrived, my name is Beth Pemberton. I am a part-time professor as I also run a business in Diagon Alley. I teach Muggle Studies, which basically means that it’s my job to teach magical-born and raised children all about the mundane world and how they can navigate about in it. The green-shirted students are Susan, Lil and Fiona. Please feel free to ask us anything at any time. No question is too silly or unimportant to ask.”

She waited a moment, checking every face to see the nods before she continued.

“Our part of the tour is to show you the classrooms and other facilities, including the library, inside the building, everywhere except the dormitories. And since we’re already here, we’ll start in the dining hall.

“As Headmistress McGonagall said, we have no Houses here, which means that there are no set tables for students to sit at. Every seat at every table is up for grabs. Students may sit wherever they want. Meals are served by the house elves in the kitchen one level below ours via a small menu and the house elves know to only provide food that is written on that menu for that meal. The only exception is under medical instructions.

“The floor directly above us is another place that we won’t be going today – up there are the staff quarters, a place that no student would ever have any reason to be. This corner of the dining hall, though, is one place that students will want to visit quite often, I suspect.”

She led the group across the room and tapped the front wall of a room, about five metres square. Instantly, the wall fell away into the ground, leaving everyone staring in awe at a small store.

“ _This_ is Diricawl Store,” Beth waved with a flourish, gesturing for everyone to enter and look around. “Basically, we took into account that students often run out of supplies throughout the year and it’s not always convenient to owl home or shops to get replacements. Here, they can buy what they need. It’ll only be open on Saturdays or if a professor feels kind enough to do so at another time.”

She cut off then, allowing everyone the chance to examine what the store held.

Stationery took up the largest amount of space, with pens, pencils, paper and notebooks as well as the more traditional ink, quills and parchment being the most prevalent. There was also one section dedicated to sweets, again, both magical and mundane. A small supply of non-perishable potion supplies were in one corner and some Diricawl accessories – satchel, beanies, scarves and the like – in the other.

“If everyone could follow me,” Beth said, “we’ll head upstairs to see the classrooms.”

-oOoOo-

“Hi, everyone, I’m Mike Evans and I’m going to be Diricawl’s Sport and Physical Education Professor, one of the brand new subjects here,” Mike said, looking over the group before him.

“As you can see, we’ve got the traditional British fields for whatever your background – a full quidditch pitch for the magicals and a couple of football fields for the mundanes,” he said, indicating each. “But don’t think that the students here will be limited to only what they grew up with, because that won’t be happening. Everyone will get a chance to at least try all the different sports and play what they enjoy.

“Now, as I’m sure that you’re aware, it’s never fun to play those outdoor sports in the dead of winter, not to mention that it’s next to impossible to see a ball hidden under some snow. So, to complement our outdoor sports, Diricawl has built an awesome all-purpose, multi-function, multi-sport hall.”

As he led the group inside, Mike was silently thanking his wife and planning to buy her the biggest bunch of flowers possible – there was no way that he’d be able to extol the virtues of something that he’d really only seen properly for the first time a week ago (the first time didn’t count as he’d barely stuck his head in the door that time).

“Space expansion charms have been liberally applied to this hall, meaning that it is massively larger on the inside than what it appears on the outside,” he continued. “There are two levels. Here on the top level, we have four multi-purpose courts. Football, netball, basketball, and a whole host of other sports can be played on each one.”

After allowing the group to examine each one and pointing out his office, they descended the stairs.

“Along this side down here are ten smaller courts, perfect for volleyball or squash or badminton. Boys and girl’s toilets and locker rooms can also be found on the far end down there,” Mike pointed out. “And through the doors on our opposite side here, you’ll find an Olympic size pool.”

The excitement that Mike could see in the eyes of the kids in front of him, not to mention quite a number of the parents, told him that he’d done his part to sell Diricawl as a school to come to.

-oOoOo-

“Now _this_ is a common room!” Fred exclaimed as the troupe filed through the doors.

“I don’t know, Twin RedHead Menace 2,” his brother replied, “there’s an awful lot of tables for studying in.”

“You two’ll want the _other_ half of the common room,” Sirius stated with a mischievous grin.

Twin heads shot around, interest etched on their faces.

“Here we have the common room for the dormitories,” Sirius announced, spreading his arms wide. “The dormitories themselves can be found through each of those six doors and the six doors on the floor above us.”

To emphasise his point, he made sure to point to the three doors on either side of the room and then up at the mezzanine level above them.

“That’d be a perfect place to lean and watch the goings-on, brother,” George stated, pointing to the rail that circled the second level, allowing anyone up there to see straight down into the main part of the common room.

“Why be up there, though, when you could be down here in the middle of the action?” Fred countered.

“Very true,” George replied. “It seems that there are options aplenty, here.”

“We’ll have a quick look in the other half of the common room and then I’ll show you the dormitories themselves,” Sirius said, leading the group on a zigzag course through the numerous armchairs, lounges, tables and desks.

“This room is designed for people like those two,” Sirius said, jerking his thumb at the twins. “A place where the kids can blow off a bit of steam in a safe environment without disturbing the ones who are studying or wanting some quieter time in the other half of the common room.”

Sirius pretended that he didn’t see the maniacal grins on the red-heads as he allowed the group to explore before leading them back to the main common room and to the door of one of the dormitories.

“ _This_ , Miss Johnson, is where the status of Prefect comes into play for the most responsible of the oldest students,” Sirius stated.

“That leaves us out,” Twin RedHead Menace 1 stated.

In contrast, the three former Gryffindor Chasers and quite a number of the other kids perked up, looking and listening intently.

“Follow me,” Sirius waved and led everyone into a small corridor with seven open doors leading off of it for people to look in. “Five of these rooms are designed for two students. They’ll each have their own bed, their own cupboard and desk and small bookshelf. The door at the end is the shared bathroom for everyone who lives in this dormitory.

“The _last_ room, is reserved for the Prefect, the student who has the responsibility of looking after the ten younger students that live in here. They’ll be like an older brother or sister, there to help out when needed, be an extra set of eyes to keep an eye on them and a person who we hope the younger students would feel comfortable talking to if they’d prefer not to talk to an adult at first. And as a bonus for having these added responsibilities, the Prefect gets to have a little extra room.”

-oOoOo-

“Welcome back everyone,” Headmistress McGonagall said after the last group had returned and everyone had settled down into seats once again.

“I’m sure that you’ve all had a very long and possibly tiring day but hopefully also a very enlightening one. In the folders that you were given when you first arrived this morning, you will find a lot of the information about the school that you’ve been told about today. You will also find a set of papers that will need to be filled in to enrol your child or your children here at Diricawl. If you choose us, which we sincerely hope that you do, we ask that you have them returned to us by the twenty-fifth of August to help with settling our timetable.

“Now, does anyone have any questions that they’d like to ask?”

Lionel, though, had given up listening. He knew what he wanted. The same thing that he’d wanted since he realised that he couldn’t go to Hogwarts or any other magic school – a chance to go and learn. He _should_ have gone last year, but now … now he could. Assuming his father agreed.

“Can I, Dad? Please?” he begged.

His father looked down at him, almost seeming to stare into his very soul.

“Are you sure, Li? This is a very big deal,” his father replied. “And I won’t be here to watch over you. What if something happens?”

“Professor Lupin showed us the safeguards, Dad,” Lionel countered. “And he’ll be here. He knows what it’s like.”

Still his father seemed to be wavering, so Lionel pushed the big points home.

“I want to, Dad and you know money’s not a factor. Professor Lupin showed us the scholarship papers. We sign it and it’s a done deal.”

To emphasise his point, Lionel opened the folder to the extra papers that Professor Lupin had explained to them, before adding them to the others in the folder.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his father gave a single nod.

Instantly, Lionel flung himself across the space to hug his father. Realising that he was squeezing a little too hard with his superhuman strength, he lessened his grip.

“Thanks, Dad,” he whispered into his father’s ear. “I love you.”


	11. Chapter 11

Harry stumbled from the FLOO, caught himself and stilled, looking around and listening. The manor was deathly quiet, but then, he _was_ the only one there.

A year ago, after having spent near enough to a whole year here with just him and Dobby, the silence wouldn’t have bothered him. But after the last year when the manor had been filled with fourteen teens, a constantly varying number of adults and three house elves, he was unused to it. Even knowing that he was the only one here, he still expected to hear the sounds of laughter coming from somewhere or the voice of one of the adults, teaching and guiding them in their lessons.

_Pop_

“Hey, Dobby,” Harry smiled down at the little elf who’d just arrived next to him.

“Is Master Harry ready?” he asked.

For the first time in a while, Dobby wasn’t wearing his Diricawl uniform. Instead, he was wearing what Harry fondly thought of as his ‘Potter Haven’ garb: his many-pocketed burnt orange cargo pants, dark green sleeveless shirt of many pockets, black boots and special black belt, finished off with his brilliant white beret with the gold Potter crest on the front.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Harry replied. “Just reminiscing.”

A snap of Dobby’s fingers opened the door to the Receiving Room of the manor for them to go deeper inside.

Most of the manor, Harry knew, had been stripped – the furniture, the contents of the library, even the magical creatures and most of the plants in the greenhouses. All had either been put in storage or moved to the Academy.

“This feels a bit like when it was just the two of us here,” Harry commented.

Dobby’s bulbous head nodded and once again Harry was struck wondering how in Merlin’s name the elf wasn’t constantly losing his headwear. Magic, he supposed.

“Dobby liked looking after Master Harry Potter Sir,” he commented.

“And you did and do a great job of it,” Harry smiled.

In some ways, Harry was glad that he actually had a purpose in being here. The silence, combined with the decided lack of furniture, made the manor feel less warm, more alien, regardless of the fact that he knew every inch of it inside and out. He had absolutely no desire to go exploring.

After passing through what had become the Arts Room, the large glassed in room at the back of the manor, the two went outside and to the left. And there, just off to one side, half hidden behind one of the greenhouses, was the object of their being there today: the great metal vault that had originally come from under the remains of Potter Manor on Ynys Crochenydd.

After it had been unearthed by the dwarfs when they were digging the foundations for the new school, it had been transported here. It’d taken Potter blood to open it and Harry still vividly remembered the sight of Tippy, the last remaining Potter house elf, curled up at the very front of it, where he was still protecting the contents in death.

Inside this large metal container were relics of his heritage – furniture, books, paintings, jewellery, suits of armour, and, as one would expect, many large exquisite pots. This was all that was left from the manor of an Ancient and Noble House that had stood for centuries and had been gathered by generations.

And now it was in danger again.

When the body of the late Cornelius Fudge had been returned after the TriWizard Tournament, it had come with a message from Voldemort. Part of that message was him naming Harry (amongst others) as his mortal enemy and his vowing to kill every family member and friend that he had. Harry had no illusions that that would include utterly destroying anything that was his.

And while Potter Haven had the best defences that gold could buy, the fact that it stood devoid of people meant that anything here didn’t have a way to fight back if the defences were breached.

Stepping up to the vault, Harry tied a piece of rope that Sirius had given him to the handle of the vault’s door. Then, with a single tap of his wand, it disappeared in a swirl of colour. He knew that it would land near the pier on the mainland across from the island where it would then be transported later that day by the school’s hovercraft across the narrow body of water to safety.

“Well, that’s that, Dobby,” Harry said into the newly vacant space. “There’s still the Peverell property to check out though, although that’s not something that I’ve got time for today.”

“Dobby is ready to look over Master Harry’s Peverell place,” he said.

“Thanks, Dobby. Just have a bit of look around to see if there’s anything that you think I need to see or if there’s anything potentially valuable there – monetarily or in terms of heritage. Be safe,” Harry instructed.

“Yes, Master Harry Sir,” Dobby replied before _popping_ away.

Finding himself alone once more, Harry spun about and began making his way back towards the FLOO.

-oOoOo-

“So many choices, brother,” Fred remarked.

“Indeed,” George replied. “They’ve really gone all out, haven’t they?”

Currently, the two were laying on their beds in their room at the Burrow. Each was in an identical position, as was their wont, with one leg crossed on their upraised knee. Each held the Diricawl Academy brochure in their hands as they read through each page most thoroughly. They had their parents’ blessing to attend the new school, something both of their siblings had also been given. But before the new school year started, they were required to owl in their subject preferences.

“Five seems about right,” George remarked.

“It’s more than we got on our OWLs and if we managed it, it’d please Mum,” Fred agreed.

“This thing says that we can also choose up to two extras to study without sitting the examinations,” George read.

Flipping to the appropriate page, Fred noted another part to that section.

“Or we could add two to study at a lower level and take as OWLs,” he said.

“The question being – would that be too much? Five NEWTs and two OWLs in the one year?” George asked.

“You’re right there, brother,” Fred agreed, “it’d be our OWL year all over again.”

“And that was the year we undertook the least number of pranks,” George said.

“A truly sad, depressing year,” George comment mournfully. “At least we made up for it last year.”

“Well, that was more a service to the school than anything,” Fred remarked. “No quidditch and the TriWiz wasn’t as fun as everyone thought it was going to be.”

The two gave identical shivers, remembering the horror that was the First Task with a loose, angry, rampaging dragon. Hundreds were injured, many were killed and little Professor Flitwick, one of their favourite teachers, had been permanently disabled, his back too damaged for even magic to fix. And that didn’t take into account that a whole bunch of dragon handlers were killed as well. They were just thankful that their brother, Charlie, survived, as did Hagrid, although he did lose an arm in the fiasco.

“I’m not sure how much pranking we’re going to do this year, either,” Fred stated.

“No Slytherins to prank …”

“Or Greasy-haired bats to torment …”

“McGonagall back watching us like a griffon …”

“And Harry, mustn’t forget the reason we’re going there, …”

“Too right, brother, if it wasn’t for his masterful …”

“Ingenious …”

“Fantastic prank against our mother …”

“ – we’ll forget that he used Ginny for the moment – “

“Then we wouldn’t be going …”

“No, we don’t want to annoy Harry.”

The two shared a Look.

“We’ll still prank, of course,” they finished together.

Identical maniacal grins that would be sure to send shivers down the backs of the staff of Diricawl if they actually ever saw them, appeared.

“We can decide on the first of them later,” George stated.

“Right. Back to subject selection,” Fred agreed.

“Charms, Transfiguration and DADA are a given,” George said, marking the three off in his book.

“Well, there _were_ the only ones got OWLs in,” Fred agree.

“Animagus studies looks interesting. Could you imagine the kinds of pranks we could pull with that?” George grinned.

“Indeed, brother, but it says that you need a minimum of two years and we’ve only got the one.”

“What about adding it as one of our extras? We could get a long way in a year …”

“And we’re smart enough to figure out the rest on our own if need be,” Fred agreed, marking it off.

“Potions?” George suggested. “We didn’t get the OWL …”

“Bit pointless, really. Snape only accepts Outstanding OWL students …”

“And who in their right mind would want to spend an extra two years with the slimy git?”

“Good thing we’re not in our right minds, then, isn’t it?”

“Couldn’t agree more. But this isn’t being taught by Snape,” George noted.

“And would be dead useful for WWW,” Fred agreed.

“Let’s mark it down as a NEWT subject.”

“What about this one? Business and Finance. We’ll need that sort of know-how to run our shop,” Fred remarked.

“Once we get one. Right. That’s five plus one, so far,” said George.

“Healing?”

“Nah,” they decided unanimously.

“What about Spell Crafting? Nope, scratch that. It says that you need OWLs in Ancient Runes and Arithmancy.”

“Herbology?” George suggested.

“Yeah, we’ve also been okay at that …”

“When we try, of course,” George finished.

“We could add it as our sixth?” Fred said. “If we don’t pass, we don’t pass, but I’m sure that we’d learn something useful. Besides, it’ll be wicked to have a house elf as a professor.”

“What about something unexpected for our final extra?” George asked.

“Unexpected is what we do,” Fred remarked.

“But if we do the unexpected, doesn’t that make our unexpectedness expected?”

They looked at each other, contemplative looks on their faces, a state that would send any sane man, woman, witch, wizard or person of other hereditary descent, running for the hills.

“Perhaps we should try to do the expected a bit more,” George suggested.

“Throw ’em off our game …”

“Keep them guessing …”

“Yes, good idea, brother,” Fred said.

“Gobbledegook,” George stated. “Learning the goblin language could be good for business.”

“While still having the potential for pranking,” Fred agreed.

After marking it down, they looked over their choices and nodded.

“That gives us six NEWT subjects and two electives,” Fred summarised.

“Mum’ll have to be happy …”

“Overjoyed …”

“Ecstatic even, with that selection.”

“Right, let’s go show her and get it sent off to McGonagall,” Fred said as they swung themselves up and out of bed.

-oOoOo-

Lord Voldemort threw the paper down in disgust. It landed, echoing slightly in the room devoid of all life except the Dark Lord’s own. One of his minions would be by later to clean up the mess and he expected that it would be soon, especially if they knew what was good for them.

The longer that he was forced to look at the nauseating headlines of _The Daily Prophet_ the angrier he became. Oh, he _could_ simply banish the thing himself or set fire to it or blast it into a million tiny pieces, but where was the fun of taking out his anger on a piece of parchment? It was much more satisfying to find someone who could scream when you were venting.

Even from his throne, he could make out part of one headline and his fantastic memory filled in the rest of it, along with the contents of said article.

_OWLs For Five Underage Diricawl Students by Rita Skeeter_

_Yes, dear readers, you read that right. It seems that whatever they’re teaching at Britain’s newest school, is working. Four students of Diricawl Academy of Magical Studies were recently tested in and passed an OWL examination, despite the fact that all five had not yet reached their fifth year of magical studies._

_And the results are even more shocking when the ages of said students were actually released._

_Harry Potter, as one has come to expect, passed a second OWL, this one an Exceeds Expectations in History of Magic, after gaining an Outstanding in Muggle Studies one year ago._

_His girl-friend, muggleborn Hermione Granger, sat for two OWLS – Muggle Studies and History of Magic – gaining Outstandings in both, proving that young Harry is enraptured by the intelligent type._

_The remaining three students all passed their Muggle Studies OWL with an Outstanding result. These were Hannah Abbot (a fourth year, like The-Boy-Who-Lived-Again and his girlfriend) and brothers Colin (second year) and Dennis (first year) Creevey, both muggleborns._

_That’s right, dear readers, you read that right. A_ first year _gained an Outstanding result on an OWL examination._

_When we at the_ Daily Prophet _questioned this result with the Wizarding Examination Authority, we were assured that the results were quite valid. The question that this reporter finds herself asking is: are these five simply incredibly intelligent or is this a symptom of a flawed examination procedure and a failing Magical Education System?_

_Be assured that I will not rest until these questions are answered. Until next time._

-oOoOo-

_Potter, it all came down to Potter_ , Voldemort fumed, _him and that blasted school of his._

There’d been other articles throughout the past few weeks, all extolling the wonders of the new school that Potter had started. Snape had even been in complaining about the numbers of students that Hogwarts was losing, not that it was much of a loss, muggleborns the vast majority of them with some half-bloods thrown in for good measure, along with a couple of worthless, penniless blood-traitors.

And it wasn’t as though he could even attack the school itself. Voldemort had surreptitiously examined the wards from the mainland nearby, or at least as nearby as he could get without alerting _others_ that he was there. The wards were strong, some of the strongest that he’d ever seen and with the wardstones at the bottom of the ocean, near impossible to break.

And that wasn’t even accounting for the way that Macnair had been thwarted from even entering the island. A ward that detected the Dark Mark, detected it and then ejected its bearer, was worrisome, very worrisome indeed. It bore much thinking about.

But attacking the school wasn’t the only way the get at Potter. No, there were other ways, Ways which were a lot more entertaining, especially when the screaming began.

_Ah, if only dear Bella was here. She so does enjoy the screaming_ , he mused.

And that was another area that needed to be addressed: releasing Bellatrix and his other servants from their prison.

A tentative knocking interrupted his musing.

“Come,” he called.

One of the newer recruits, barely out of Hogwarts judging by the look of him, timidly scuttled into the room.

“I was sent to ask what time you’d like breakfast, my Lord,” the boy asked, his head properly bowed.

“I will be down in thirty minutes,” Voldemort stated. “See that everything is arranged perfectly.”

“Yes, my Lord,” he replied quickly. “Do you require anything else, my Lord?”

A single glance in the direction of the reviled newspaper was enough to have the recruit scurrying across the room. His speed was even enough to stay Voldemort’s wand. Besides, he was savouring what was to come.

“Inform Malfoy, Macnair and Yaxley that I will require their services as soon as breakfast is done.”

“Yes, my Lord,” the boy replied obediently before retreating from the room to carry out his orders.

-oOoOo-

The street was muggily quaint. And once one looked around, incredibly boring. The street was full of cardboard cut-out houses, each one identical to the one beside it. Every lawn had been mowed to a precise height, and each one was bordered by beds of flowers trying to outdo the ones nearby.

Four wizards appeared from out of thin air and looked around with near identical looks of disgust on their faces, if one could see such a thing considering that three of them were wearing long black cloaks with the hood pulled up and bone white masks on their faces.

“This is the place?” Voldemort asked.

“Yes, my Lord,” Yaxley was quick to answer. “One of my contacts in the Department of Records smuggled it out to me.”

“Which one is it? They all look disturbingly the same,” Malfoy asked.

“Number four,” Yaxley replied.

At their Lord’s gesture, the three men followed him across the road and up the garden path. Macnair raised his wand as they approached the door, only to have his hand lowered by Voldemort.

“The niceties must be observed, Macnair,” he was told.

Finding the small button beside the door, Voldemort reached out one long, white finger.

“A doorbell. How quaint,” he commented as he pressed it.

Mumblings were heard from the other side of the door and a gigantic dark shape could be seen drawing closer through the window.

A morbidly obese man with a moustache that would make a walrus proud opened the door, puffing slightly as though he’d just run a hundred metre dash instead of walking through his house, a smile that was supposed to be pleasant but came off as though he actually had diarrhea, on his face.

“Yes?” he asked before he realised who, or rather what, was on his doorstep.

“I’ll have none of your freakish kind here,” he hissed. “Get lost!”

Instantly, Voldemort’s wand appeared in his hand and he flicked it, silencing and freezing the man where he stood.

“That is no way to talk to your betters. Move aside so that we can enter,” the Dark Lord said airily.

The fact that it was Voldemort’s wand that made the frozen man move was inconsequential, the results were the same – the wizards entered the house, Yaxley even going so far as to close the door behind them.

“Now, where is your lovely family?” Voldemort asked.

The sound of a scraping chair from further down the hallway, answered his question and with a flick, he levitated the man before him.

The room that they entered was a kitchen, a place that Voldemort thought that the other three men with him may never have seen before. A thin, bony, horse-faced woman at the sink turned at their entrance, a look of absolute horror on her face as she realised what she was seeing and Voldemort smiled. The enormous boy seated at the table stuffing his mouth full from the three plates surrounding him didn’t even bother to look up, his attention fixated on a television perched atop the fridge.

“Wh…what d…did you do to my V…Vernon?” Petunia Dursley whimpered.

Already there was whimpering and he’d barely begun.

A flash of deep red light cut across the room, striking the television and exploding it, sending bits of plastic flying throughout the room and causing black, charred edges around the new hole in the kitchen wall.

“Hey!” Dudley protested before turning angrily.

It was amusing to see the bravado of the boy disappear instantly as he took in the four robed figures, their wands in their hands.

“Thank you, Macnair,” Voldemort drawled, “the sound that box was making was distracting. And as to what I have done to ‘your Vernon’, the answer is: hardly anything. Yet.”

He eyed the stick-thin woman who carefully reached out for her son and pulled him from his chair back towards her. _This_ was the sister of Lily Potter? Voldemort couldn’t see it. If there was a family resemblance, it was well hidden and she showed none of the courage of her dead sister.

“Do you know who I am, woman?” he asked, his head cocked slightly as he ran his fingers lovingly up and down his wand.

Her terrified nod was in stark contrast to the confused eyes of her son and husband who was currently propped against a nearby wall, a trickle of blood oozing from his cheek where he’d been caught by a piece of the once-was television.

“I am Lord Voldemort,” he stated and watched as the light of recognition dawned. “Ah, it’s always so wonderful to go where I am known.”

“Why are you here?” Petunia asked timidly.

“That would be your nephew’s doing. He’s been bothering me and as I can’t get to him at the moment, I thought that we would pay your lovely family a visit,” Voldemort replied.

A shriek of dismay and outrage from Petunia erupted as Lucius slashed his wand down, opening up a long diagonal gash in Vernon’s chest and stomach. Blood spurted from the wound, splattering on the kitchen floor, wall and even onto the table. Vernon, for his part, made not a sound, a by-product of the _petrifus totalis._ Tears streamed from his eyes, though, telling one and all that he felt the pain.

A wave of Yaxley’s wand ensured that the screams from Petunia and the boy wouldn’t be heard outside of the room.

“ _Crucio!_ ” Voldemort said, almost lazily, dropping Petunia to the ground.

Macnair reached behind his back, pulling out a miniature axe which he promptly enlarged with a tap of his wand.

A second diagonal swipe from Lucius caused a corresponding gash in Vernon’s torso, this one going the opposite direction from the first that he’d made.

“There you go, Walden,” Lucius drawled. “I even made it easy for you; X marks the spot, after all.”

With a maniacal grin, Macnair took a step forward, gave his axe an experimental swing and drove it forward. He may have been slightly off-target, but with the strength he put behind the swing, it cut through what was left of Vernon’s clothing and skin, only to become lodged deep inside the belly of fat.

A retching sound behind him made him pause in his removal of his axe and he looked back to see the boy throwing up, a quite impressive display considering all that he’d been shovelling into his mouth when they first arrived.

By the time the axe was removed, blood was spilling in sheets from the corpse of the walrus-sized man. A massive _crash-splat_ heralded the man landing face down in his spilled guts.

“Efficient and effective as a demonstration for Potter,” Voldemort told his Death Eaters and their corresponding flinch said that they heard the disapproval in his voice. “But we also need to show these muggles their place. Yaxley seems to have the right of it.”

Indeed, when the two men looked at the muggles lying on the ground, it was to see two quivering, whimpering balls of flesh, trying to curl up protectively into themselves. Dozens of cuts littered their bodies and the tendons behind the knees of the large slob of a boy looked to have been severed.

“D…d…dud…l…ley,” Petunia stammered through her sobs, “w…w…watch.”

“Yes, boy, listen to your mother,” Voldemort instructed. “Watch. Watch what we can do to you.”

Voldemort watched, amused as the boy sought his mother’s eyes, confusion written on his face. He frowned slightly when that expression changed and there was a slight corresponding nod from the mother.

“Dodo,” the boy managed and disappeared in a swirl of colour.

“Dodo,” Petunia echoed a micro-second later.

Voldemort stared at the now vacant patch of kitchen floor – bar the twin pools of blood –  where his victims had been moments before. Portkey. It was the only answer. Somehow, Potter had predicted this and taken steps to protect his only remaining family.

Throwing his head back, Voldemort let out a primal scream of rage, his wand lighting up, sending jets of coloured spells left and right. Cupboards exploded; tiles melted; pots and pans spun about the room, holes piercing their silver metal; glass, both window and of the drinking kind, shattered into a million pieces.

Finally, when he had calmed somewhat, he turned to find his Death Eaters cowering in a corner away from his wrath.

“String that up and torch the place,” Voldemort commanded sending a piercing hex through the back of Vernon’s neck to emphasise his point. “And don’t forget to set the Dark Mark.”

With that, he turned and in a swirl of robes, apparated away.


	12. Chapter 12

An irritating chirp roused Chert from where he sat sharpening his favourite dagger. It was soothing work for the goblin and to be interrupted in the middle of it caused him to frown, a not unusual expression on his face.

Slipping the dagger into its sheath on his boot, he pocketed the stone and went to look into the Reception Room of the Security Building for the school. The only reason that the annoying _chirping_ sound would be being made was if someone had arrived there.

It was a feature that he had installed himself: a stone warded to detect motion in the room mounted just above the door and connected to a second stone above the door in his office. It could be turned on and off to alert him to the unexpected when he when he wasn’t nearby and monitoring.

His frown deepened as he took in the sight inside the room. There were definitely only two people – one a thin, bony woman; the other a large, rotund boy. The fact that both were lying on the ground, twitching occasionally, told him that something was wrong with them. The small amount of blood that began to seep out from under them verified that thought.

Instantly, Chert slapped his hand onto one particular stone under the window and channelled some of his magic into it. A corresponding stone in the school’s reception area and a second one in the Healer’s office, would now be _chirping_ irritatingly there, telling anyone in listening distance that he had an emergency.

Pulling open the door, he rushed inside, leaving it wide open – a breach in protocol, perhaps, but he had no desire to get stuck in there with the injured people.

Cuts littered the two bodies, he saw, when he drew closer. Blood oozed from dozens of places, their clothes correspondingly ripped and ruined as well. The most blood, Chert quickly realised, was coming from the back of the knees of the boy. He may only have limited healing knowledge, but even he could see that it was bad and that the boy was in danger of bleeding out if something wasn’t done.

A quick check of the female told him that she could wait, there was nothing life threatening with her injuries.

Grabbing a hold of the boy’s arms, his powerful muscles heaved and he began dragging the boy across the floor towards the door. The fact that the boy was enormous for his age meant that even goblin strength was almost not enough to get the job done, but a challenge was something that no goblin would ever give in to.

Hissing between his sharp teeth, his muscles rippling, Chert dragged the boy forward. As he passed through the doors, he gave one almighty heave and dropped the boy’s arms the instant that his feet cleared the door.

Dropping to his knees as he slid across the floor into position, Chert threw out his arms, holding them above the slashed tendons and began to chant. A soft glow began to appear. It wasn’t much, but the stasis charm would be enough to hold the boy onto life until the Healer could get there and work her magic.

-oOoOo-

Harry entered the Security Building at a dead run and slid to a stop in shock at the sight that greeted him.

“Dudley? Aunt Petunia?” he breathed.

Indeed, he was lucky enough to be able to see that much with the number of adults milling about or feverously waving their wands over the two prone figures on the floor.

The school Healer, Bianca Jeffries, barely spared him a glance before she focussed once more on the bloody mess that was the back of Dudley’s legs.

“Don’t just stand there, Harry, get down here,” she snapped.

Instantly, Harry stepped forward and dropped to his knees beside his cousin. Harry couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Dozens of cuts, some tiny, others much, much longer, littered Dudley’s arms, legs and back. The area behind his knees appeared to be slashed horribly and blood was everywhere, his clothes in tatters. A single glance told him that his aunt was in marginally better condition, not having the major injuries that Dudley had, although she was constantly twitching where she lay.

“Time to put those Beginning Healing lessons that you had all last year to use,” Healer Jeffries stated. “You know how to heal cuts, so get to it. Start with the small ones and work your way up. None of them are life threatening, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

A second glance at Aunt Petunia showed him that Remus was currently in the process of healing his aunt’s many cuts.

“What happened?” he demanded, even as he flicked his wrist to draw his wand to begin his work.

“Don’t know. Arrived like this,” Chert grunted. “Got the boy out of the room there and put his legs in stasis using goblin magic.”

From his angle, Harry was able to look into the Receiving Room and see the bloody drag marks that led from the centre of the room to the door and Dudley’s current position.

“And more than likely saved his life in the process,” Healer Jeffries stated.

The soft white light from her wand stopped and she sat back slightly to examine her work before nodding and reaching into the black bag at her side. A blood replenishing potion appeared in her hand and she spelled it straight into Dudley’s stomach, followed by a second one an instant later.

Harry barely had time to notice this, so focussed was he on healing the cuts on Dudley’s back.

“There’s more on her front,” he vaguely heard Remus say and he took a fraction of an instant to note that he had rolled his aunt onto her back.

“The boy’ll be the same, more than likely,” Healer Jeffries noted. “But I think we’ve done enough to deal with the rest of the injuries in the Hospital Wing. Okay, Harry you can stop there for now.”

With a nod, Harry lowered his wand and rocked backwards onto his feet before standing.

“Let’s get them moved,” Healer Jeffries ordered.

Then, with twin swishes and flicks from her and Remus, the two were levitated up and out of the room, Harry keeping pace with them.

-oOoOo-

“How are they?” Minerva asked as she and Sirius entered the Hospital wing.

This room was as light and airy as they could make it with windows along one wall that gave a pleasant view of the gardens outside. There were enough beds for a dozen patients, with a further two private rooms for the more seriously injured through two of the three doors at the back of the room. The final door contained the bathroom for the patients. Healer Jeffries’ private office and attached storeroom was just to the right of the door to the wing.

“They’ll live,” Healer Jeffries replied from where she hovered between two of the beds closest to her office. “Petunia Dursley was exposed to the cruciatus curse, although it only appears to be a mild dose, as well as receiving dozens of cuts to her body. All of the cuts have been healed and I’ve given her a muscle relaxant to stave off the worst of the effects of the cruciatus.

“Dudley Dursley was in a much more serious situation. He, too, had numerous cuts to his arms, legs and torso, all of which have now been healed. But both tendons behind his knees had been slashed. The tendons are currently regrowing and I’m expecting that he will fully recover, although he may end up with a bit of a limp; there’s only so much magical potions can do for a person without magic to help those potions along.

“Currently, both are asleep. I’m expecting that Petunia may awaken within the hour, although the longer she sleeps the better. Dudley should remain unconscious until at least tomorrow morning.”

“How did this happen?” Harry asked angrily. “And where’s Uncle Vernon?”

“Death Eaters,” Sirius replied, placing a hand on his godson’s shoulder and giving a gentle squeeze. “They attacked Privet Drive. The house was in the process of burning down by the time we got there and they’d set the Dark Mark. I’m sorry, Harry, but your uncle didn’t make it.”

Harry didn’t know what to feel at that. Uncle Vernon had treated him abhorrently for most of his life, locking him in the cupboard, verbally abusing him at every chance he got and even beating him on occasion. But he was still family, that was why he gave them all portkeys after all. Somehow, Aunt Petunia and Dudley were able to use theirs to get away, even if they were severely injured before they could do so. Why Uncle Vernon couldn’t wasn’t something that he probably would know until one of them woke up.

Figures hovering at the doors caught his attention and he saw Mike and Susan there, obviously unsure about whether to enter or not. Harry nodded to them and they tentatively stepped inside the door. They, too, were family; Mike and Petunia were first cousins, after all.

“Sirius and Minerva brought us,” Mike said, “thought it’d be good for us to move here now, considering …”

“Hope you don’t mind, Harry, but I sent Dobby and Jaxom to pack up their stuff and move it here,” Sirius said.

Harry shook his head. “No. No, that’s okay. Thanks.”

He turned back to face his aunt and cousin.

“I want to know what happened,” he said. “Was it Voldemort himself or just some of his Death Eaters? Obviously, it was aimed at me, trying to get to me through them. Can’t imagine he was happy when they got away, though.”

“I would say that that was a safe bet,” Sirius agreed.

“Think I’d better stay here until after they wake up,” Harry said. “They’re not going to be happy at all – they’ve never liked the concept of magic and to be surrounded by it is going to be tough for them.”

“I’ll stay, too, Harry,” Mike said. “Family sticks together, after all.”

Harry nodded gratefully to his cousin before the two of them and Susan moved to sit in chairs beside the occupied beds.

-oOoOo-

Petunia Dursley woke slowly. She could feel herself returning to consciousness long before she finally was able to flicker her eyelids open. There were two voices talking in low murmurs nearby, one sounding very familiar, but she tuned them out in favour of finding out where she was.

She was lying on a bed by the feel of it. The ceiling and what little she could see of the walls were a bright white. And there was a smell of medicines in the room. She guessed that it could be a hospital, but the lack of beeping machines belied that supposition.

Hospital, though. That stirred a memory.

And with that, it all came rushing back: the cloaked men, _wizards_ , floating Vernon into the kitchen; the bright flash from one of their _things_ before Dudley’s television exploded; Vernon being cut; pain beyond measure throughout her body; Dudley’s screams of pain and terror; Vernon being nearly cut in two; getting Dudley to realise that they had a way to escape; and then a horrifying pull from somewhere in her stomach before her memory simply stopped. She guessed that she’d blacked out.

“Dudley,” she managed to croak.

“Aunt Petunia?”

The messy black head of her nephew appeared above her, an uncharacteristic look of worry on his face.

“Harry,” she said, feeling the unfamiliar word on her tongue.

“I’m here, Aunt Petunia,” Harry replied. “And so’s Dudley. We’ve patched you both up, although Dud may have a slight limp. He’s alive, though, and so are you.”

“Thanks to you,” she murmured, surprised that that was the case.

She and Vernon had spent many, many hours talking after Harry had given the three of them those special watches that could get them out of trouble and take them somewhere safe. They’d never quite been able to work out why the boy had given them to them. But right now, she was grateful that he had.

“Vernon,” she began before her voice seized up and tears fell from her scrunched up eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Aunt Petunia,” Harry said.

She felt a hand, larger than Harry’s would be, come to rest on her shoulder and she forced her eyes open to see who it was. The man standing beside her bed looked vaguely familiar, but who he was escaped her.

“It’s Michael Evans. Your cousin,” the man said.

Memory of a young man that looked remarkedly like this one blossomed in her mind and she gasped. She hadn’t seen him since her parents’ funeral, sixteen years ago.

“Michael?” she questioned. “What are you doing here? Where am I, anyway?”

“You’re at Harry’s school,” Michael smiled. “And where else should I be? We’re family, after all, the only family we have left.”

Petunia knew there must be a story there, but for now, she was too tired and distraught to worry about it. Later, she’d want to know it. For now, she allowed her eyes to close, sleep taking her into blessed oblivion once more where she didn’t have to remember that her beloved Vernon was no longer with her.

-oOoOo-

Amelia strode through the front doors of Dircawl Academy. She was on a mission. From what little she’d been told; she may have just been handed her first real chance at catching some Death Eaters. It all hinged on what the witnesses could tell her.

The Reception Desk didn’t even slow her down – for one, she was well-known here, and for two, they still had yet to find someone to take on that role for the school.

A short corridor later, and she was pushing open the door to the Hospital Wing. Her quick eyes scanned the room, noting the people in attendance and where they were all located. Of her two witnesses, one, the boy, Dudley, looked to still be unconscious; the other, Petunia Dursley was sitting up in bed, Harry and Mike and Susan Evans surrounding her.

By the time she stopped at the foot of the bed, all four pairs of eyes were fixated on her.

“Mrs Dursley. My name is Amelia Bones. I am the Head of … I’m the Chief of Police for the magical world,” she said, switching tacks half-way through to something that a muggle would more readily understand. “I’m very sorry for your loss but I need to ask you some questions to help us catch the people who did this to you and your family.”

The woman glanced at both her nephew and the Evans’ before looking back and nodding.

“Harry, Mike, Susan, I’m going to have to ask you to step outside for the moment,” Amelia said.

Harry shook his head and raised one hand. “As Head of Clan Lomas, I claim my right to remain with my kinswoman while she is questioned.”

“As you wish, Sir,” Amelia replied, hiding her wry smile in her short bow.

Mike and Susan, thankfully, didn’t put up a fuss and, after giving Petunia’s hand a squeeze and offering some words of encouragement, stepped past her and from the room.

Petunia was looking at her nephew, a strange expression on her face as though what she was seeing couldn’t be understood.

“I’ll explain later, Aunt Petunia,” Harry told her.

Amelia pulled a dictaquill from her pocket and some parchment and set them to floating just out of the way so that they could record the conversation. Petunia, for her part, stared at it, her eyes big and round, with a hint of fear in them.

“It’s called a dictaquill,” Harry said softly. “It’s like the magical version of a tape recorder.”

Nervously, Petunia nodded, visibly pulling her gaze away and focussed on Amelia once more.

“My name is Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, currently at the Hospital Wing of Diricawl Academy of Magical Education interviewing Mrs Petunia Dursley on the events of August seventeen, nineteen ninety-five at four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Also in attendance is Lord Harry Potter, Head of Clan Lomas as allowed by right as Head of House,” she told the quill before checking that it was working correctly.

She turned to the woman in question, then.

“I understand that you were attacked by magical persons,” Amelia began. “We have examined the remains of your house and found magical signatures there, confirming this fact. I would like for you to tell me everything that you remember.”

Petunia swallowed and glanced at her nephew before beginning.

“I was in the kitchen cleaning up from breakfast. V…Vernon and Dudley were there at the table still eating when the doorbell rang. Vernon went to answer it. When I next heard a noise, there were four men coming into the kitchen, one of them was using his … his _wand_ to float Vernon in. They’d made him as stiff as a board, only his eyes were moving. They left him leaning against the wall.”

“What were these four men wearing?” Amelia asked.

“Long black cloaks and dark hoods. Three of them had white masks so I couldn’t see their faces. The other had his face uncovered,” she shivered. “There was something wrong with him. He had _no nose_ and his eyes were red. And he was bald and his skin was pasty white.”

“Voldemort,” Amelia nodded grimly.

Petunia nodded. “That’s what he called himself. He talked for a bit and then one of them did something that made the television explode. I pulled Dudley away from them but there was nothing I could do for Vernon.”

Tears were streaming down her face and she leaned forward, allowing Harry to awkwardly pat her on the back.

“I know that this is hard, Mrs Dursley, but I need you to keep going,” Amelia said.

“The leader, Voldemort, shot something at me that made every inch of my body hurt excruciatingly,” she whispered. “And they began making cuts on us, on Dudley and me, all over our bodies and there was nothing that we could do to stop it.

“One of them, one of them made large vicious cuts on Vernon, like a big X and then, then one of the others made an axe appear out of nowhere and he just ... he just … he just _swung it straight into Vernon!”_

This last was screamed in a mixture of anger, horror and dismay and she burst into loud, wracking, uncontrollable sobs. It was nearly a quarter of an hour and a calming potion later before she was finally able to continue.

“Harry … Harry had given us special watches a number of weeks ago, just in case,” she whispered.

At her pointed look, Harry elaborated. “Enchanted as portkeys to bring them here to Diricawl if they were ever in danger.”

Amelia nodded and gestured for Petunia to continue.

“After they killed Vernon, I knew that Dudley and I were next,” she said. “I was able to remind Dudley about them and we said the special word that brought us here.”

“Thank you, Mrs Dursley, you’re doing very well,” Amelia said. “Just a few more questions and we’ll be done. Do you remember any characteristics of the men that might help us to identify them? Or maybe some names?”

This last one was a long shot, but if the plan was to kill all three, then they might have been a little lax.

“Names,” Petunia nodded. “The one with the axe was called Walden, I think. And there were other names that they called each other: Malfoy and Mac … Mac … something and Yax … Yaxley, I think it was.”

Amelia stared at the other woman. Did she just hit the goldmine? Malfoy was a known element and she already had an arrest warrant out for him. The other two, though, those two were Ministry workers!

“Walden Macnair and Yaxley?’ she asked. “Were they the names? Are you positive?”

“Yes. Yes, that was them,” Petunia replied firmly.

Amelia was now desperate to return to DMLE headquarters. If she was lucky, she could have the two in her holding cells by dinner and before the Wizengamot by the end of the week.

“Thank you, Mrs Dursley, you have been most helpful. I will keep you informed of our investigation,” she said.

Then, after a brief nod at Harry, she pocketed her parchment and quill and hurried from the room.

-oOoOo-

Before she’d even finished entering Auror Headquarters, Amelia was issuing orders.

“I want the Duty Chief in front of me ten minutes ago! Shaklebolt, Dawlish, grab your squads and join them. And I want the paperwork for arrest warrants for Walden Macnair and Corban Yaxley in my hand the instant that they are filled out.”

“Hmm hmm,” a girlish voice from her left interrupted her.

Amelia closed her eyes. The last person she wanted to deal with right then was the Minster of Magic.

“Minister Umbridge, is there something I can do for you?” she asked, watching as her orders had aurors scurrying about the office.

“Did I hear you correctly, Amelia?” the Minister asked. “Did you just order the arrest of two upstanding, pureblood Ministry workers?”

“Yes, Minister, I did,” Amelia replied.

“On what charge?” Umbridge asked sweetly.

“On the charges of belonging to a terrorist organisation; torture; murder; destruction of property and arson,” Amelia replied.

She hoped that there’d be more, but that could wait until she had them in a holding cell and she could question them.

“I trust that you have evidence to support these very serious charges?” Umbridge asked.

“Eyewitness testimony,” Amelia replied.

“Indeed?” a shocked-sounding Umbridge asked. “May I ask who this eye-witness is?”

It went against everything in her to answer that question, but Amelia knew that she had no choice; she was answerable to the Minster of Magic and the Wizengamot and, as the investigation had no link to the Minister, Amelia was forced to reply.

“The Aunt and cousin of Harry Potter.”

“Excuse me, Amelia, but I was under the impression that Harry Potter’s only living relatives were muggles,” Umbridge stated. “Surely you must be mistaken. The word of two muggles? I’m afraid that their word will not stand up to scrutiny.”

Amelia’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Vernon, Petunia and Dudley Dursley were attacked this morning, by Voldemort and three Death Eaters. Vernon Dursley is now dead. And the Death Eaters responsible named each other. Malfoy, Yaxley and Macnair,” she stated. “Petunia and Dudley escaped and I’ve just interviewed them as to what happened.”

“They saw their faces?” Umbridge asked.

“No. They wore masks,” Amelia replied.

“Then these names could simply be random to throw them off,” Umbridge said airily. “No, Amelia. You will not be arresting pureblood Ministry workers on such flimsy evidence. And if I hear that you are, then you will have to be punished.”

Before Amelia could reply, the Minister for Magic had waddled away, leaving a gaping, incandescently angry Amelia Bones behind.


	13. Chapter 13

“Mum?”

Petunia dropped the booklet that she was reading into her lap as her son’s voice flittered to her for the first time since the attack. She barely noticed it clatter to the ground as she scrambled from her bed and across the small distance to perch on the side of her precious Dudley’s bed.

“Dudley? How are you, my baby?” she asked, her eyes roving over his face, trying to judge his wellness.

“I’m … I’m okay, I think,” Dudley replied before his face screwed up and he gasped. “Dad!”

“I know, baby, I know,” she said, throwing her thin, bony arms as far around her son as she could manage.

Dudley began bawling, his loud sobs sending shudders through his body. Petunia did what little she could, holding him and stroking his hair, whispering platitudes and just allowing him to cry.

Eventually, Dudley pushed her away and ran the sleeve of his pyjamas across his blotchy face, smearing it with tears and snot.

“It’s the Freak’s fault, isn’t it?” he snarled. “I’ll kill him for getting Dad killed like that!”

“Stop, Dudley!” Petunia snapped and the unexpectedness of his mother speaking to him like that snapped his mouth shut even as his eyes widened. “It’s not H…Harry’s fault.”

Dudley opened his mouth to protest but for probably the very the very first time in his life, his mother spoke straight over the top of him.

“It’s not, Dudders, it’s not Harry’s fault,” she insisted. “He tried to warn us and even gave us these watches so that we could escape if something happened.”

At that, she held up her hand, allowing her sleeve to drop down, exposing the watch to his view.

“And it worked, we got away; we’re still alive,” she finished.

“Didn’t help Dad,” Dudley snarled.

“No, no it didn’t help your father,” Petunia agreed sadly. “But I don’t think anything could have helped him. They used their sticks to stop your father from talking or even moving.”

Dudley’s angry eyes darted about the room, taking everything in.

“Where are we?” he asked suspiciously.

“We’re at Harry’s school,” Petunia replied before starting, looking around and then popping off the bed for a moment to collect the small booklet that she had been looking at.

“We’re at a _freak school_!” Dudley bellowed, his hands inching towards his bottom even as it sounds like he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

“It’s okay, Dudley, it’s okay,” Petunia soothed. “They’ve done nothing but help us. They’ve even healed us.”

Dudley seemed to take stock of his body then.

“No, they didn’t. My legs hurt,” he whined.

“Yes, the doctor said that they would for a few days at least, even with their special way of doing things,” Petunia told him. “They tell me that you were very badly hurt, Dudley. If we hadn’t come here when we did, you could have died.”

“Yes, you could have,” the doctor agreed, appearing at the end of the bed. “It’s good to see you awake, Dudley.”

A stick appeared in her hand and Dudley tried to shy away.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you, just see how well you’re healing,” she smiled as she began waving her wand around. “Your legs still need some healing; the tendons behind your knees were cut very severely and you lost a lot of blood. If it wasn’t for Chert’s quick thinking, you would have bled out before I got to you.”

Dudley looked to his mother. “Chert?”

Petunia smiled slightly. She could see the question in his eyes: what kind of name was _Chert_?

“He’s our Head of Security,” the doctor explained. “You’re healing well, but I don’t want you on your feet for at least another two to three days. After that, I suspect that you’ll need to take it easy for at least a week. Rest assured, Dudley, you will walk again, although you need to be aware that you may end up with a slight limp.”

Dudley’s eyes rounded.

“It’s okay, baby,” Petunia said, carding her fingers through his hair. “We’re safe here and they can heal us.”

And then Dudley asked the one question that Petunia’d never expected to ever hear him ask:

“If this is Harry’s school, where is he? Why isn’t he here and what’s going to become of us?”

Petunia had no idea how to answer the last question, but she could at least tell Dudley what little she knew about the first question.

“Harry’s off talking to people about finding the people who did this.”

-oOoOo-

“My condolences for your loss, Harry,” Dumbledore said after he and Sirius were seated.

Not knowing exactly how to respond to that, Harry simply nodded slightly before looking away.

They, along with Amelia and Shaklebolt, the Unspeakable, Croaker, and the creepy ex-auror, Alastor Moody were once more seated side by side on chairs in front of Dumbledore’s desk. After what had happened at the Dursleys, it was felt that, regardless of the disaster that the last meeting was, they needed to try again.

“It behoves me to say, Harry,” Dumbledore said sadly, “that some of the fault for the death of Vernon Dursley can be laid at your feet. Your rebellion and refusal to remain with your relatives, destroyed what protections were in place around their home, allowing the attack to occur.”

Instantly, Sirius and Amelia were on their feet, even as Moody and Croaker were leaning forward, staring intently at the aged Headmaster.

“Don’t even try it!” Sirius growled, Padfoot obviously very close to the surface. “There is absolutely no way in hell that Harry is in any way responsible! You _will not_ accuse Harry of something like that and attempting to guilt-trip him like that will only get you challenged to a duel and as the Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, know that I know some _very_ interesting curses that I’ve been dying to try out for years.”

“We know exactly who to blame, Dumbledore,” Amelia continued. “Petunia and Dudley survived because of Harry and Petunia has already named names. Voldemort. Malfoy. Yaxley. Macnair.”

“What’s the status of the investigation?” Moody growled, his electric blue eye remaining on Dumbledore even as his head was turned more in Amelia’s direction so that he could see her with his good eye.

“ _The Minister_ ,” the Head of Magical Law Enforcement spat, “has ordered me not to pursue the case until we have stronger evidence. Even if the word of a muggle had enough weight to make a case in court, Petunia never saw their faces. It’d be their word against hers.”

“Never agreed with that Merlin-be-damned law saying that purebloods were exempt from veritaserum in a trial,” Moody stated. He turned then, to fully face Dumbledore. “And Albus, the only reason we’re here today is because you know Voldemort better than anyone else alive. You taught him as a kid for crying out loud. Not to mention that bloody rumour that went around during the last war that you and your power was the only thing that he was ever wary of.

“But make another crack at the kid like that again or turn this meeting into a farce like you did the last one, and we’re gone. None of us may be as powerful as you alone, but together, well, together, that’s another story.”

“There is a muggle saying, that applies to this situation,” the deep baritone voice of Auror Shaklebolt declared. “United we stand, divided we fall. Working together, we can achieve the impossible if needed and beat back the dark. But if we’re not working together, if we’re trying to do it individually or in small divided factions, then we have no hope of winning or even surviving.”

“Shaklebolt’s right,” Croaker stated. “Bones, Black, sit down. Let’s see if we can work together for the good of not just the magical world, but all people on this island.”

Grudgingly, Sirius and Amelia sat, Sirius reaching over and giving Harry’s knee a slight squeeze, letting him know that he was there for him.

“I think that’s there’s two big questions that we need to answer,” Moody began once everyone was seated once again. “How is it that Voldemort’s still alive after all this time and what makes the man tick?”

“If I’m not mistaken, the answer to one will most likely be wrapped up within the answer to the other,” Croaker stated. “Care to begin, Albus?”

The Headmaster’s face gave nothing away, Harry had no idea what the man was thinking.

“There is no one person who can answer that question,” Dumbledore began. “From what I’ve been able to gather, Tom has always been a very private, independent individual. And it is a known fact that he widely travelled between the time shortly after he left Hogwarts until he reappeared as the self-styled Lord Voldemort.”

“But you have a pretty good idea, don’t you Dumbledore?” Amelia asked, her eyes narrowed slightly.

“Some speculations, a handful of guesses,” Dumbledore replied, waving his hand as if to say that those speculations and guesses weren’t worth wasting anyone’s time with.

Suddenly, Moody stood, his staff cracking loudly on the stone floor.

“Right, you had your chance, Dumbledore,” he groused. “Let’s go, everyone. We’re wasting our time here. I’ve heard that that school of yours, Potter, is well-warded.”

“I’d say even you, Mad-Eye, would approve of the security we’ve put on the place,” Sirius replied as he, too, rose.

All six of them were on their feet and heading towards the fireplace when the sound of two thumps on the desk behind them made them pause.

“This is what you want to know,” Dumbledore stated.

The six turned around, but not before Harry noted the triumphant look on Moody’s face. The fact that it was gone by the time they were facing Dumbledore almost made him doubt what he’d seen.

Dumbledore stood tall behind his desk, his robes and long hair and beard moving slightly in the magical flare that the powerful wizard had formed around himself.

“You want to know what I suspect, what information I’ve managed to gather?” he asked, his blue eyes piercing into each of them. “ _This_ is the culmination of years of work and I can assure you that I’ve only just begun.”

There were two items on the desk, both wooden boxes, one slightly larger than the other. What was in them was anyone’s guess.

“I can assure you that the knowledge gathered here is incredibly rare and dangerous,” Dumbledore continued. “And I will not share it with anyone without a magical vow from that person.”

“What sort of vow?” Croaker asked suspiciously.

“A vow that states that you will not use what you learn for any reason except that which specifically is aimed at negating the power of Tom Marvolo Riddle. You will not do additional research into the specific area of Dark Magic that his pertains to, nor will you share any such knowledge with anyone not within this room, either in verbal, written or mental forms.”

“You don’t honestly expect an Unspeakable to agree to that, do you?” an incredulous Croaker asked.

“If you want to know what’s in these boxes, then yes,” Dumbledore replied flatly.

Harry darted his eyes about the adults. Each one seemed to be seriously debating with themselves whether swearing such a vow was worth it, while at the same time trying to figure out what the others were likely to do.

“If I swear such a vow, then I’ll want one from you; one where you swear to tell us everything that you know about Voldemort, no matter how small or how inconsequential you may think it is,” Moody stated.

This seemed to pique everyone’s interest, for Harry noted the number of heads that were nodding in agreement.

A sour look momentarily flashed across Dumbledore’s face.

“I don’t like swearing vows that stop me from researching, but if you’ll agree, Albus, I’ll agree,” Croaker said.

“I can live with those terms,” Sirius agreed.

“Agreed,” Amelia nodded. “Swear the vow, Albus and you’ll get mine in return.”

“I believe that it would be best if I received all of your vows first,” Dumbledore countered.

“Not going to happen,” Moody stated. “Now, swear the vow or we walk!”

For the longest time, Dumbledore stood behind his desk, his magical aura flaring before the old man sighed, his aura faded and he ever so slowly withdrew his wand from his robes.

“It is against my better judgement, but if that is how it is to be, then so be it,” he said sadly. Then, after lifting his wand, he swore the vow. “I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore swear on my magic that I shall tell Amelia Susan Bones, Sirius Orion Black, Harry James Potter, Alastor Moody, Kingsley Shaklebolt and Algeron Croaker all that I know about Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

Moody was still eying Dumbledore suspiciously after the Headmaster’s wand had flashed and he had lowered it. Most likely, he, like Harry, was wondering what Dumbledore had up his sleeve to get him around that vow.

Sirius, though, obviously wanted to move things along. Drawing his wand, he held it aloft.

“I, Sirius Orion Black, swear on my magic that I will not reveal or use what I learn about Tom Marvolo Riddle to any outside of this room by any means available except with the express purpose of bringing about the death of said Tom Marvolo Riddle, his Death Eaters and supporters.”

After the magical flash signifying that his vow had been accepted, he stepped back. Then, one by one, each of the others, including Harry, stepped forward and repeated the vow. Finally, when all had sworn on their magic, the seven in the room retook their seats.

“Alright, Albus, what’s in the boxes?” Moody asked pointedly.

“The contents on this box are best left until after we have examined the contents of this box,” Dumbledore said, pushing the larger of the two slightly forward. “Its significance will be much better understood at a later date.”

Each of the six on the opposite side of the desk glanced at each other; even with the vow, Dumbledore still wasn’t willing to dole out information, everything had to be on his timescale.

“Fine,” Moody growled. “So, what’s in _that_ box?”

In reply, Dumbledore simply tapped the box with his wand making a latch appear. The latch was flicked back and the lid opened to reveal a host of small vials, most of them containing a white cloud-like substance.

“Memories,” Croaker stated.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore replied. “Memories that I have collected over the years, each one even more difficult to obtain than the last and all pertaining to one individual.”

“Riddle,” Amelia said.

“So, we’re bound for a trip down memory lane, then,” Sirius stated, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s get started.”

“We shall start with this one, I think,” Dumbledore said, plucking one particular vial out of the box.

“What’s so special about that one?” Moody asked suspiciously.

“This, Alastor, is where the story of Tom begins,” Dumbledore stated lightly.

“Where the story begins, huh?” Moody repeated. “What I want to know though, is _is it the most important one_?”

Dumbledore looked slightly taken aback.

“To be honest,” he eventually replied, “I would have to say that it is not. However, without the rest of the story, it would mean little.”

“Don’t care. I want to see the most important one first,” Moody growled. “At the very least, it’ll give us a point of reference to know what we’re looking for.”

“I agree with Alastor,” Croaker agreed. “There’ll be time later to examine it more than once.”

Dumbledore adopted his most disappointed expression to little avail. From a small cupboard off to one side, he fetched a large, shallow silver bowl etched with dozens of runes, none of which Harry could readily identify. A clear liquid filled the inside of it into which he poured the contents of a vial.

“This is a pensieve, Harry,” Sirius told him. “Very rare and very expensive. They’re used to examine memories, like we’re about to do. You put a memory in it and touch the liquid and it draws you in so that you can relive the memory as a neutral third party. Doesn’t even have to be your memory.”

“Simply touch the liquid and allow it to draw you in,” Amelia added. “You won’t be able to affect anything there and nothing there will affect you. We’ll all be there together, watching.”

The seven crowded close around the desk and as one, touched the liquid with a single finger.

They appeared in what looked to be a teacher’s office here a Hogwarts. The professor there was middle-aged with thick shiny, straw-coloured hair and a great moustache to match. Half a dozen boys were sitting around him. Suddenly, he fixated on one particular boy, a boy that he’d seen coming out of a diary a couple of years ago: Tom Marvolo Riddle.

“That’s Tom!” Harry exclaimed, pointing.

Harry studied him intently. At a guess, he was maybe a year or so older than memory Tom, although it really was hard to tell. He was relaxing in a chair, legs thrust out before him and oddly, wearing a black and gold ring on his finger, a ring that Harry didn’t remember him wearing before. Unfortunately, the way his hand was placed in his lap, Harry was unable to get a proper look at it.

“Avery. Nott. Carrow. Yaxley, Malfoy senior,” Moody grunted. “It’s almost his whole damn original inner circle. Or what would become it.”

“Horace Slughorn,” Sirius noted, nodding at the professor. “Had him when I was here. He was the potions professor.”

Suddenly, the whole room filled with a thick, white fog and the voice of the professor rang out unnaturally loudly, “– _you’ll go wrong, boy, mark my words_.”

“This memory’s been tampered with,” Croaker noted.

“No kidding, Merlin,” Moody grumbled sarcastically.

The memory returned to normal almost as suddenly as it’d gone weird. A small clock chimed on a nearby mantle place and the professor hurried his students off to their dorms. Tom, though, had seemed to deliberately dawdle until he was the last in the room with Slughorn.

“Look sharp, Tom. You don’t want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you a prefect …” Professor Slughorn said.

“Sir, I wanted to ask you something,” said Tom.

“Ask away, then, m’boy, ask away.”

“Sir, I wondered what you know about … about Horcruxes?”

Suddenly, that strange fog of white filled the room once again and Harry noted Croaker nodding his head knowingly. And just as before, Professor Slughorns’ voice boomed throughout the fog.

_“I don’t know anything about Horcruxes and I wouldn’t tell you if I did! Now get out of here at once and don’t let me catch you mentioning them again!”_

The memory ended and Harry felt himself drawing upwards until, with a lurch, he found himself back in Dumbledore’s office.

“As you can see, without the entire story, that memory made little sense, which is why it is always best to start from the very beginning of any story,” Dumbledore stated, retaking his seat.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” Croaker contradicted. “There was an awful lot of useful information in there. The fact that that memory’s been tampered with for one. Slughorn’s doing, if I was to guess, although exactly what he’s hiding is anyone’s guess. Hocruxes for another.”

“Horcruxes? What are they, I’ve never heard of them before,” Harry said.

“And nor should you have,” Croaker replied. “Very dark magic indeed, which also happens to be the very answer we’ve been looking for.”

“You’re going to have to explain to me as well, Algeron. I’ve never heard of them either,” Amelia admitted.

From the corner of his eye, Harry noted that Dumbledore looked aghast that someone was about to explain exactly the thing that he’d been keeping secret.

“A horcrux is an object that a magical person, after an incredibly dark ritual, including the murder of an innocent, can place a piece of their very soul into,” Croaker explained.

“And I’m guessing that unless one destroys every piece of a person’s soul, you can kill the body but the spirit won’t move on,” Moody said.

“That about sums it up,” Croaker nodded.

“May I ask how you know this?” Dumbledore asked.

“Albus, I’m an Unspeakable. And seeing that I’m the _Head Unspeakable_ of the Department of Mysteries, it’s my _job_ to know this stuff,” Croaker told him.

“So, we need to find the piece of Voldemort’s hidden soul, his horcrux, and destroy it,” Shaklebolt summarised.

“Alas, if it was only that simple,” Dumbledore interrupted.

“What do you mean, Dumbledore,” Amelia asked.

With a sigh, he opened the second box that he hadn’t intended to. Inside was an item that Harry instantly recognised.

“The diary!” he exclaimed. “That ghost or shade or whatever of Tom came out of it.”

“But you destroyed it, Harry,” Sirius pointed out, emphasising his point by pointing at the hole in the middle of it where Harry had stabbed the thing with the tooth of a basilisk.

“Then it couldn’t have been a horcrux,” Croaker said. “If the horcrux had already been destroyed, then Riddle couldn’t have regained a body.”

“Unless he made more than one,” Moody stated, eyeing Dumbledore.

“That is the conclusion that I came to as well,” the Headmaster said.

“But from the description that you gave before, a horcrux could be anything, right?” Sirius asked. “If that’s the case, how are we supposed to find the others? And how many others are there anyway?”

“Slughorn. He’ll know. Whatever was hidden in that memory is the key,” Amelia stated.

“Along with the memories that I have gathered,” Dumbledore said. “Now do you see why I asked you to view them in the order that I had predetermined? Viewing the entire story in its proper order is the only way to do this.”

“Wouldn’t say that it’s the only way. I say we find Slughorn and get the proper memory from him first so we know what we’re looking for in that lot,” Moody declared with a nod towards the box filled with memories.

“Auror Shaklebolt, you’re to work with Master Auror Moody to find Horace Slughorn,” Madam Bones commanded. “As soon as you do, bring him here and alert the rest of us.”


	14. Chapter 14

Diricawl Academy had been a hive of activity all day. Not with dozens of students roaming the halls and chatting and dashing from here to there, simply because there were no students on the island at all. Not even Harry was there – he was currently off with Dobby on some project or other. The students, after all, wouldn’t arrive until the following day. In fact, the only non-staff on the island were Petunia and Dudley Dursely and neither had yet to stick their heads out of the hospital wing.

No, all of the rush to get things done and ready was being done by the staff. Teachers were double-checking the equipment in every room or area that they’d been assigned; lesson plans were being tailored and finalised; and half a hundred other little things were being double checked.

The fact that the school house elves had already done most of these tasks didn’t seem to matter to the adults. There was a sense of excitement and nervousness permeating everything and no one could sit still for very long – checking and double-checking everything simply seemed the most sensible thing to do.

Finally, in the middle of the afternoon, Headmistress McGonagall called for a full staff meeting.

“Thank you all for coming,” she said from where she stood in her place at one of the largest of the round tables in the dining hall. “I know that you probably all have many things to do to ensure that we’re ready for the students tomorrow, but I thought that it was essential that we were all informed of what to expect come tomorrow.

“The last of the expected new enrolments have arrived. At this stage, we are closing enrolments unless there are exceptional circumstances. It would simply be too disruptive for not only you but also our current students to have a new person join the school part way through the year.”

“How many students do we have?” Beth asked.

“Forty-six, spread over all seven year levels,” Remus replied. “Not as high as we were probably hoping – we weren’t expecting to fill all one hundred and thirty-two places – but it’s a respectable number.”

“I thought that we should begin by breaking that number down by year level,” Minerva said. “Obviously, this is not indicative of class groupings as some of the older years will begin classes in lower year levels simply because they do not have any knowledge in that subject. Nor will it take into account the fact that students may advance to higher-level classes if we feel that they aren’t being challenged enough in their current class.”

“Like Harry, Hermione, Luna and Daphne,” Dan said.

“Yes and even Mister Longbottom in Herbology,” Minerva smiled. “We were very fortunate to get such a group of intelligent and motivated students to start with. They’ve pushed us and we’ve been able to push them. I fully expect all of our original students who will complete their OWLs at the end of the year to do exceptionally well and I would think that Miss Lovegood would be able to join them in many of those examinations.”

“We might as well start with our fifth years, our OWL students,” Remus said. “As I’m sure that you all expect, this is our largest cohort. We’ve actually filled all nineteen spaces available in this year level and could have taken one or two more, there was definitely the interest there.”

“May I ask who our new students are?” Filius asked.

“Ron Weasley, Anthony Goldstein and Justin Finch-Fletchley, along with Megan Jones, Sally-Ann Perks, Sophie Roper, Su Li, Lisa Turpin, Morag MacDougal and Mandy Brocklehurst,” Remus replied, reading from the paper in front of him.

“All very good students and my five former ’Claws are exceptional additions to Diricawl,” Filius beamed.

“Our other big testing year is our seventh years with their NEWTs at the end of the year,” Minerva stated. “There are five in this year level – the Weasley twins, Lee Jordon, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson.”

“The twins are going to be a handful, aren’t they?” Scarlett Tuck, the Arithmancy and Astronomy professor groaned.

“Yep!” Sirius piped up, excitement in his voice and a massive smile adorning his face.

“They’ve promised that they will keep their pranks to a minimum” Minerva relayed.

“We can only hope,” Emma said dryly.

“Since we’ve started from the top, we might as well work our way down,” Minerva said, moving the meeting back on to track. “Sixth year is our smallest group with only two – Katie Bell and Leanne Montgomery.”

“We have three new students joining our current three going into fourth year, giving that group a total of six,” Remus relayed. “And we have five new students in both third and second years.”

“The year level that we had no way of guessing about was first years. At least with the other year levels, the students, no matter where they attended, would have heard of us. But without access to any way of knowing who the new muggleborn students are, we had to rely solely on our advertising,” Minerva said. “Thankfully, that did seem to pay off. We have four new first years, including Mark Evans, the son of our newest teachers, Mike and Susan.”

Mike and Susan smiled back at the nods and smiles that they were receiving.

“I know that we were hoping to get some special students at some stage, werewolves and goblins and the like. Do any of our students fall into that category?” Augusta asked.

Remus beamed, a smile like none had really ever seen on his face before.

“One. We have one werewolf. His name’s Lionel. Lionel Hawkins. He’s a second year, but he hasn’t been able to do any schooling before this, so he’ll be mostly joining classes with the first years until he’s caught up.”

“It will be safe for him to attend?” Leonard Flanagan, their Arts professor asked.

“Most definitely,” Remus replied. “Both he and I will have wolfsbane potion for the full moons and we will spend the night in the underground strong rooms. I’ve used them and they can’t be broken out of. And neither of us are dangerous at any other time of the month. I will personally be spending a lot of time with Lionel, helping him understand what being a werewolf means and helping him see that his life is still full of potential.”

“That is an attitude and mind-set that we want all of our students to develop,” Minerva added.

“It’s a good thing to have no matter what your age is,” Dan added.

“Now, has anyone noted anything that we are in need of or things that need to be done so that we are completely ready for tomorrow?” Minerva asked.

Heads swivelled backwards and forth as everyone there eyed everyone else. When no one spoke up, Minerva nodded her head in satisfaction.

“Sirius, Chert, is everything ready for the students’ arrival?” she asked.

“The hovercraft’s ready,” Sirius replied. “Although it won’t be exactly easy for the muggleborns to get to the dock, but at least with the medallions that Harry issued them, they can get there. It’ll be easier next year after Harry’s done whatever he’s going to do with that land.”

“The Receiving Room is ready,” Chert stated succinctly.

“Excellent. In that case, if no one has anything else?” Minerva paused to check. Seeing nothing, she continued. “Then I shall leave you to get back to your last-minute preparations and see you all at dinner.”

-oOoOo-

Peverell Manor was in the District of Cumbria. A small parcel of land in terms of magical estates, it was set on only thirty acres. Some small distance to the west was the village of Gosforth and in the bottom south-east corner of the property, ran the River Bleng. Thick woods surrounded the heavily wooded property, woods that encroached in large swathes through the deteriorating wards, creeping further and further towards the manor proper as each year passed.

It’d been many decades since the manor had been inhabited by anyone from the family and, apart from the occasional visit, the property and manor had been allowed to deteriorate. The wards, of course, were maintained, for even with no one of the family wishing to live there, none wanted the muggles that lived in the area to find it, even accidentally.

At one time, a small quidditch pitch had been set at the back of the property and, while the hoops remained, the stands were starting to come apart and the once smooth grass was wild and unkempt – in fact, several small bushes now called the area home.

The once immaculate gardens, sculptured to perfection, were lost to nature. Now, plants grew haphazardly wherever they wanted, mixed liberally with the new growth from seeds of plants that had blown in with the wind.

As for the manor, its once white walls were now grey and brown with dirt and age, that is, the parts that could be seen – the rest had been claimed by patches of climbing ivy, currently climbing halfway up the second of four levels of the manor walls.

The Victorian era house appeared taller than it was wide from the front. Side on, though, and its true size could really be seen. Small balconies poked from the steep roof where additional rooms had obviously been built and at the rear, a smaller single story wing had been added for the staff. Amazingly, despite its lack of maintenance, every window was still intact, a testament to the magic that maintained them.

It was into this scene that Harry appeared with a stumble, a bronze medallion clasped in his hand. Pocketing the portkey, Harry took in the scene by turning in a slow circle.

“Wow! This place has really been let go, hasn’t it?” he asked rhetorically.

“Dobby and the other elveses could put it to rights,” Dobby answered anyway.

“Yeah, probably, but the yard alone would be years of work,” Harry replied, his mind harkening back to his time at the Dursleys when he was in charge of keeping the small yard there in immaculate condition.

“Not years, Master Harry Sir,” Dobby countered, shaking his head and making his large bat-like ears flap back and forth. “With Dobby, Jaxom and Neri all working together, months only.”

“Working full time, perhaps,” Harry allowed. “And right now, neither I nor the school could spare any of you that long.”

Dobby’s face was an amusing thing to watch just then. Emotions played across it as each fought for dominance. There was the pride of knowing that Harry needed him, but also the knowledge that he couldn’t complete this work for his master and then the fast thoughts of trying to work out how he could do both.

“We’ll work it out later,” Harry told him. “Let’s have a look inside.”

Mounting the half-dozen stone steps, they approached the door before Harry paused, his fist with the Peverell ring foremost halfway to the door.

“You checked that this place is structurally sound, didn’t you, Dobby?” Harry asked.

“Yes, Master Harry Sir, Dobby checked just like Master Harry said to. Manor is old but still in good condition,” the elf stated.

With a satisfied nod, Harry finished pushing his fist forward until the Head of House ring touched the place where the lock would be on a non-magical door. Instantly, there was the sound of a click and Harry turned the knob, opening the door.

The air that hit him in the face as he entered was stale and musty and he couldn’t help but succumb to an instant coughing fit.

Dobby hadn’t mentioned that the place needed airing out after his brief excursion the other week. But then, all Harry had asked the elf to do was to check it out and see if there was anything that the school would find useful there. The fact that the elf had come back emptyhanded hadn’t filled him with a great deal of confidence in the place.

Noting his Master coughing, Dobby snapped his fingers, cleaning the air. It still wasn’t great, but at least Harry felt that he could breathe again.

And then they began exploring.

There were dozens of rooms to see, sometimes dozens just on one level and there were five of them overall: a basement, three regular floors and then the attic-converted rooms.

They found bedrooms, both those obviously designed for the family (including the master, a nursery, and four other suites) and those for guests (eight bedrooms on the second floor as opposed to the family’s third floor position. There were entertainment rooms – ballroom, a formal dining room, a large open loungeroom and one room most likely designed for the men to relax in with a bar and a pool table.

There was a whole bunch of smaller sitting rooms and a large library, its shelves currently empty. It took a while before they eventually found the books, all miniaturised and packed away into warded boxes in one of the basement storerooms, storerooms which had been initially sealed away from Dobby under Peverell magic, magic that only the Head of House ring could release. There was also enough miniature furniture in the storerooms to outfit the manor twice over, which was good considering most rooms were actually completely empty at the moment.

One of the more intriguing things that still remained on the wall of the largest of the family loungerooms was the Peverell family tapestry. Harry spent a long time mesmerised by the thing, tracing the lines upon it. Judging by the fact that his own name was near the bottom, he guessed that it was self-updating. And there were so many names there that he recognised – Black, Bones, Abbot, Weasley, Wood and Spinnet among them.

But it was the very top that confused him at first. Tracing his line up, he found that he was descended from Ignotius Peverell. But what was most interesting, was the fact that Ignotius wasn’t the eldest born, in fact he was the youngest of three brothers. The oldest, Antioch, appeared to have died without any children. The second-born, though, Cadmus, had descendants. Harry traced this family down to see where they had died out, for they must have in order for the family ring to fall to him.

What he eventually found, made him stumble and fall, ending up on his backside as he stared at the tree, his mouth agape. The last of the line of Cadmus Peverell was Tom Marvolo Riddle, the son of Tom Riddle and Merope Gaunt. And under Tom’s name was his birth and _death_ dates: thirty-one December, nineteen twenty-six to thirty-one October, nineteen eighty-one.

Whatever had happened that Halloween night, this tapestry, and presumably magic itself, had decreed that Tom Riddle had died, leaving Harry as the last living descendent of the Peverells.

When he’d first come here, Harry’d had the intention of seeing if the manor would be a suitable place for Petunia and Dudley to move to for he was sure that they wouldn’t want to stay at the school and going home was _not_ an option. Then, when he and Dobby had begun exploring the house, he’d had the idea to get a few more elves to work at fixing it up (an idea that he was sure that he’d still pursue).

Now though, after seeing that tapestry, he was doubly glad that he’d come. He had the feeling that the information that he’d just discovered was going to turn out to be extremely important.

-oOoOo-

“Ah, Lucius,” Lord Voldemort greeted his servant as the man slunk into the room.

He watched, amused, as the once proud man threw himself face down just in front of his Lord’s throne.

“Rise, Lucius, we have much to discuss,” Voldemort commanded and, judging by the barest suppressed shiver, he knew that he message had been received: have the answers that I want or suffer the consequences.

Deciding to let the man sweat some, Voldemort paused, studying the man. Where once Lucius took a great deal of time and effort to ensure that his appearance was the epitome of what a member of the upper echelon of society should be like, now it was nothing like it. His once perfect skin was marked by Potter’s spellwork, the _diffindo_ marking the man’s left cheek was faint now, but still easily seen, as was the fact that a third of his left ear was completely missing. And as for Lucius’ once long silky hair, well, the best that could be said was that it had regained its length, regardless of the fact that it was now dull and greasy and often tangled.

“Some time ago, I gave you a mission,” Voldemort reminded his servant. “Report on your progress.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Lucius replied, bowing his head in acknowledgement. “I contacted those that I could, those who I knew could be trusted and gained the information that you wanted, my Lord. I have the plans to Azkaban and I even have the guard rotation for the next month due to a mole within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement itself.”

“If you have those, why have you not brought them to me?” Voldemort hissed, his eyes narrowed. “I should not have to ask you for them!”

“I was waiting for the final piece of information, my Lord. I wanted to give you everything that you would need to make your plans, the more that I could give you the better your plans could be and the greater your success,” Lucius grovelled quickly.

“ _What_ final piece of information would that be?”

“A map of the very wards of Azkaban itself,” Lucius replied.

Voldemort eyed the man before him. With the scheme for the wards, it would be a simple matter to collapse them at will and wreak havoc.

“How long will it take you to procure the schema?’ Voldemort asked.

“I have been assured that they will be in my hand within the week,” Lucius replied.

“Ensure that they are. Or else you may find that you will have to use your teeth to take it from your informant after that time,” Voldemort promised.

The fact that Lucius’ hands twitched as though he wanted to hide them either in his sleeves or behind his back told him that the … message had been received.

“Go. I expect you back within seven days with the information we need,” Voldemort commanded.

As the man scurried away, Voldemort couldn’t help but grin. Seven days, all being well, and he could begin planning his next big show of power. And finally regain some of his missing and most experienced Death Eaters in the process.


	15. Chapter 15

Katie stepped from the FLOO, manhandling her trunk out of its upright position as fast as she could. She’d been warned about the special properties of the room otherwise she would have simply used her wand and levitated it. As soon as it was out, she slid it to the left and not a moment too soon as the flames flashed green once again and Angelia appeared with her trunk.

Jumping forward, she helped her friend manoeuvre her trunk out and to the left as well, just in time for Alicia to appear. By the time that all three were clear of the fireplace with their trunks sorted behind them, the FLOO was flaming up once more ready to deposit the next new student to the school.

With excited grins, the three grabbed the ends of their trunks and pulled them towards where they knew the hidden door and window were. Just as they’d been instructed to do, they fished into their pockets – or in the case of Katie, reached down the neck of her shirt – and pulled out the silver Diricawl medallion and held them up.

At once the door opened, staying that way just long enough for the three to exit the room.

“Welcome to Diricawl,” Chert grunted.

“Thanks, Professor Chert,” Katie replied happily, making said goblin professor scowl.

“Report to Reception before you go anywhere else,” Chert instructed.

Before any of the girls could reply, the Security Chief had turned away to stare into the window into the room, watching the newest arrivals.

“Think I’m glad that I didn’t sign up to learn Gobbledegook,” Angelina whispered as soon as she felt they were out of hearing range, which, considering Chert was a goblin, was considerable.

“Yeah, French was a much better option,” Alicia agreed.

“This year is going to be so different,” an excited Katie exclaimed. “We’re going to learn so many different things.”

“No quidditch, though,” Angelina replied.

“Professor McGonagall promised us that there would be,” Alicia countered.

“If only Ollie was here as well,” Katie said. “With us and twins being here with Harry, the whole team’s nearly back together again.”

-oOoOo-

“You are certain that this is the place?” Simon Finch-Fletchley asked.

“Yes, Dad,” Justin sighed tiredly.

He thought that the kids were the ones who were supposed to be constantly asking repetitive questions, not the parent.

“Remember what happened when you let go of the medallion?” Justin reminded his father.

His father winced as he nodded.

As they lived marginally closer to the island than London, his father had decided that it’d be quicker for them to drive to the land opposite the island and for Justin to take the ferry … er, hovercraft, across to the island.

The first problem that they’d encountered had been that, near the very end of the journey, when they could already see the blue of the ocean in the distance, his father had suddenly changed his mind and decided that dropping Justin off in London was actually the best idea.

It'd taken a whole heap of arguing before Justin had finally clued in to the fact that his father wasn’t holding the special medallion that nullified the muggle-repelling wards that would allow his father to drive onto the land that Harry apparently owned.

Their second problem came as they were traipsing along the path from the designated carpark to the pier where they could board the ferry. It was a long walk (they’d been promised that by the end of the school year, parents would be able to drive all the way down to the pier, the road just had to be built first) across the scrubby land and they’d had to carry Justin’s trunk between them.

Unfortunately, at one point, Simon had dropped the medallion while he was getting a better grip on the trunk. A dazed expression instantly appeared on his face. He vaguely looked around, dropped the trunk and wandered off, scratching his head.

The jerk of the falling trunk had alerted Justin as to what had happened and it’d taken him a couple of minutes to find the dropped medallion and then to chase down his father and physically force him to take the medallion back before a sheepish Simon Finch-Fletchley followed his son back to the trunk.

At long last, they crested the last small hill to look down on the sea proper, a pier and the Diricawl hovercraft not far from where they stood.

Unconsciously, Justin increased his pace, causing his father to begin complaining again, but Justin wasn’t listening – he was almost there. All too soon he’d be boarding the hovercraft and would be off to his new school.

“Hi, there! Justin, right?” a man who’d just appeared in the doorway of the hovercraft called.

“Yes, Sir,” Justin replied.

“Sirius Black, but I suppose you’ll be calling me Professor Black,” Sirius said, extending his hand to first Justin and then Simon. “I teach Potions and Business and Finance.”

With a tap of his wand, Sirius relieved the Finch-Fletchley’s of the trunk, levitating it inside the craft.

“Have a great year, son,” Simon said, “and we’ll see you at Christmas.”

“Thanks, Dad, I will,” Justin replied.

The two stepped together and hugged, his father ruffling his hair in the process. With a last clap on the back, Simon stepped back and nodded. Justin nodded back and marched towards the waiting hovercraft. At the entrance, though, he stopped and looked back.

“And Dad? Don’t drop that medallion again,” he called.

His father laughed and there was just  a hint of nervousness in it.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a firm grip on this thing,” he replied, holding it up.

With a last wave, Justin disappeared inside to find somewhere to sit.

-oOoOo-

The pile of trunks sitting to either side of the entryway to the dormitory wing told Minerva, Remus and Filius that their students had listened to and followed the instructions that were given to them upon their checking in at Reception.

Their entry into the common room was momentarily unnoticed, giving them a chance to see how the group interacted without the presence of either parents, staff or other adults. A lot of the couches were filled, primarily with the groups of girls all gossiping and laughing and generally just ‘catching up’. A number of the younger ones weren’t being quite as outgoing, sitting quietly, nervously eyeing those around them.

Judging by the sounds filtering in from the second, larger common area, the remainder of the students, most of the boys and a few of the girls, were in there. The irregular thumping sound indicated that they were playing some sort of game with a ball.

One by one, the presence of the professors was noticed and the groups began gathering closer. Angelina, Minerva noticed, quickly ducked next door, her voice wafting back to them.

“Oi! You lot! Professors McGonagall, Lupin and Flitwick are here.”

The sound of scrambling and pounding feet preceded the remainder of the students hurrying into the room.

“Thank you all for your attention,” Minerva smiled, “and welcome to your first day of school. Before we get down to classes tomorrow, there are one or two housekeeping items that we need to sort out today.

“Firstly, your class schedules will be collected by the Prefects before lunch and will be delivered to you by them at lunchtime. To make that easier, just for today, I would like you to eat in a group according to your dormitory grouping. Your dormitory grouping will show you who your Prefect is.

“The school shop will be open after lunch for the remainder of the afternoon for any that feel they need extra supplies that they’ve forgotten to pack.

“Ordinarily, we would have determined who the Head Boy and Head Girl for the year are prior to the start of the school year. However as all of our seventh years are new students here at Diricawl, we have decided to postpone making that decision until Christmas.

“Once we announce your dormitory assignments, you will have the remainder of the day to settle in, unpack and ensure that you are familiar with where each classroom is. You are required to be in the Dining Hall for each meal and within the Dormitory Wing by eight-thirty at night and within your dormitory proper by nine-thirty. The library will be open from eight in the morning until eight at night.

“Now, for the most important part: your dormitory assignments and the announcing of the prefects, although I would think that that was fairly obvious at this point.”

Grins flashed amongst the five seventh years.

“As there are only forty-six of you, we won’t be needing the upper level dormitories, nor one of the boys’ dormitories on this level, therefore they have all been sealed shut. You will also notice that above the door of each dormitory is a gem which helps to delineate which dormitory is yours.

“We will begin with the boys. As there are seventeen of you, you will be split into two groups. The Prefect for the first group is Lee Jordan.”

There were loud cheers and claps as well as hugs from Angelina, Alicia and Katie for the dreadlock-wearing boy, whose blush was hidden in his dark skin.

“Mister Jordon, you and your group, consisting on Messrs Abercombie, Evans, Pemberton, Hawkins, Anson, Mactavish and Mister Dennis Creevey have been assigned the onyx dorms.

“The Prefect for the remaining boys was hard to decide upon. Therefore, Messrs Weasley, you will _both_ be Prefects. Messrs Potter, Longbottom, Finch-Fletchley, Goldstein, Mister Ronald Weasley and Mister Colin Creevey, you will be in the peridot dorms.

“Now, the girls. As there are twenty-nine of you, you will be split into three groups. We currently only have two seventh years, Miss Johnson and Miss Spinnet, meaning that both of them have been awarded Prefect status, along with Miss Bell.”

The three former Gryffindor quidditch chasers practically jumped at each other in their haste to hug. Not to be left out, Fred and George shared a single look with Harry before the three of them joined in in one massive hug.

“Yes, congratulations to you all,” Minerva smiled. “Now, on to your room assignments.

“In the turquoise dorms with Miss Johnson are Misses Rogers, Queen, O’Connell, Davidson, Reeves, Kettleburn, Dawson, Weasley and Simmons.

“In the emerald dorms with Miss Spinnet are Misses Lovegood, Davis, Spinks, Li, Turpin, MacDougal, Brocklehurst and both of our Miss Greengrasses.

“In the sapphire dorms with Miss Bell are the remaining young ladies – Misses Granger, Bones, Abbot, Moon, Jones, Perks, Roper and Montgomery.

“As I’m sure you recall, within each dorm are six rooms, five of them are set up for two people, the final one for a single occupant. The single room is for the Prefect. We will trust you to determine who shares with whom within your dormitory. If there are any arguments, your Prefect has final say. If at any time your Prefect determines that the pairing is not going to work due to arguments or personality conflicts, they can enforce room changes within your dormitory setting. If you have any problems, go to your Prefect first and they will do their best to resolve things for you. If, however, you feel that things haven’t improved then your year-level coordinators are there for you, each of which will be announced at lunchtime.”

Minerva eyed the students who seemed torn between looking at her and at the door which led to their dorm.

“Well, off you go, then,” she smiled.

Instantly, there was a frenzied rush as everyone either dashed for the trunk or the dorms in an attempt to claim their room and their bed before anyone else.

-oOoOo-

“Do you think that they’ll let us ride the horses?” Ginny asked Luna as the two of them skipped across the field towards the far end of the island.

Noticing that her friend hadn’t answered, she stopped and looked back. Luna was down on her knees a little ways back, her mouth moving as she said something too softly for Ginny to hear.

She couldn’t help but shake her head at her childhood friend. They’d grown up together or as near to together as they could get, what with them living near each other and being the only magical girls to boot in the area. And being the same age helped a lot, especially when they were able to go to Hogwarts at the same time.

After she and Luna had been sorted into different Houses, they’d drifted apart somewhat, but Ginny hadn’t worried, after all, there’d still see each other around the castle and there were still the holidays where they could spend hours each day playing together.

But then last year had happened. Luna had gone to a completely different school; one that Ginny couldn’t follow her first friend to. She’d worried, then, about how they’d change and if they’d grow apart, but seeing her friend on her knees in the grass, a field of flowers surrounding her, her heart eased – no matter how far apart they went, Luna was still the same.

“What have you found there, Luna?” Ginny asked as she slowly approached.

“A fairy,” Luna answered in her ethereal voice. “There’s a fairly large court of them living on the island. We saw them on our very first day exploring here. They’re very friendly, you know, and extremely inquisitive. Their mounds are actually in the woods over there.” Here Luna pointed off to a clump of trees on the far edge of the field. “This one wanted to come see what all the excited big people were doing.”

Ginny, to her very great surprise, could actually see the fairy sitting daintily on a flower, her tiny legs swinging backwards and forwards and her wings giving the occasional flap to help her keep her balance.

Most creatures that Luna claimed to see Ginny had never seen or even heard of before.

“Are there many other creatures here?” Ginny asked, then cocking her head to the side, she tried to remember some of Luna’s favourites. “What about crumple-horned … er, crumple-horned snorkacks? Or nargles?”

Luna giggled at her.

“Don’t be silly, Ginny, everyone knows that crumple-horned snorkacks like the cold and Ynys Crochenydd is nowhere near cold enough. And as for nargles, unfortunately there isn’t any mistletoe growing here so, no, no nargles.”

Luna’s eyes widened slightly as a thought obviously occurred to her.

“I think that I’ll suggest to Professor Jaxom that he should plant some and hopefully that will attract them.”

Ginny nodded uncertainly, unsure if encouraging her friend was the best thing to do.

“So, what animals are on the island?” she asked.

“Hippogryphs and unicorns, of course,” Luna replied, tilting her head slightly as she thought. “Oh, and Harry’s horses. Fairies. Diricawls. Mokes. Garden gnomes. Nifflers and bowtruckles, but they’re both confined to the small island of land that we can only get to across the bridge if we have a teacher with us.”

Unexpectedly, their conversation was interrupted by a pair of rabbits with tiny horns on their heads hopping past. Ginny could only stare at them, her eyes as big as saucers, her jaw flopped open.

Seeing her, Luna giggled.

“I nearly forgot about the jackalopes.” She leaned in then and whispered to her friend. “I heard that Professor Jaxom would like to get a bunyip. I really hope that he can but I suspect that I’ll be disappointed.”

“A bunyip?” Ginny asked, tearing her gaze from the jackalopes back onto her friend. “What’s a bunyip?”

“They’re a creature from Australia,” Luna answered. “Apparently, they live in pools of water in the hot Australian outback or in swamps or creeks, so I don’t think they’d really like it here. Which is a pity. I’d have like to find out if they really are related to dragons. Harry could have found out easily simply by taking to it.”

_Luna hoped that they’d get a creature related to dragons here?_ Ginny wondered. She still vividly remembered the terror from the First Task of the TriWizard Tournament last year when one of the dragons had gotten loose and gone on a rampage.

“Well … well, there’s always books?” Ginny tried to sound sympathetic but feared that she failed abysmally.

Deciding to change the topic, she jumped to her feet and pulled Luna up with her, who smiled and waved goodbye to the fairy.

“Come on, Luna, let’s keep exploring,” Ginny said.

-oOoOo-

Severus Snape glanced across the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The First Years had been sorted and the feast was in full swing. Thankfully, he’d managed to pass off the duty of meeting the First Years, escorting them into the Hall and calling each one forward to sit on the tiny stool – Pomona had been more than willing to take up that duty.

Even with the influx of the new students, Hogwarts’ House Tables were looking slightly emptier than usual. The frown that etched his face (not that anyone could actually _tell_ that he was frowning, his face looking no different than it normally did) told the story: Hogwarts’ numbers were dropping.

It’d started the previous year with fourteen students spread over three different year levels missing from their number. This year, the absence of students was even more noticeable.

For a start, there should have been four more First Years, students that had originally indicated that they were coming but had later changed their mind. The fact that all four were muggleborns wasn’t so much the issue; it was more the fact that they had chosen something other than the premier school of magic in the country.

And even that had been challenged of late. Five students from that upstart school had now received OWLs before they’d even entered Fifth Year, the traditional OWL age year, one of them a First Year! The Wizarding Examination Board, the Department of Magical Education and the Hogwarts Board of Governors had all demanded answers.

_What was going on at Hogwarts? Were their standards slipping, as indeed the whispers throughout the rest of the continent had been saying for the past decade?_ they had asked.

Severus hadn’t enjoyed the grilling that he and Dumbledore had been given and the fact that they were going to be closely monitored this year was particularly irksome.

And the fact that an ever growing number of their best and brightest students were disappearing wasn’t going to help Hogwarts’ results. Forty-five, if one included the missing First Years. Forty-five. That’s how many extra students should be there, at Hogwarts, right now.

Oh, the loss of the Weasley twins, in fact the loss of the entire family wasn’t bad, in fact Severus saw it as something to celebrate. But the fact that so many others had gone with them was … annoying. There were now students from every House and every year level gone, gone to the upstart Diricawl, his lip automatically curling at just the thought of the place.

And if Hogwarts wanted to prove that they were still the premier school in the country, then it’d be the OWL and NEWT scores where they really needed to excel. The fact that almost half of the Fifth Years had now gone, and the better half at that if he was being honest, made that goal next to impossible to achieve.

The Fifth Years. This particular group when they’d begun at Hogwarts as First Years, had numbered forty. Now they were down to twenty-one, a full third of them Slytherins. And he had no delusions as to exactly how well every single one of them was going to do on their tests nine months from then.

And unfortunately, as the Deputy Headmaster, he was going to have to be the one to make sure that they were up to standard.

_Joy_ , he sarcastically thought.


	16. Chapter 16

Harry led the way into the Hospital wing, knowing that what was coming wasn’t going to be fun but was something that needed to happen. Right behind him were Mike and Susan, so at least he knew he had some support, although they were likely to also be a bit distracted by Mark and Melody who were bringing up the rear, trying very hard to be as inconspicuous as possible.

“Good afternoon, Madam Jeffries,” Harry said, sticking his head into the Healer’s office.

“Oh, hello, Harry,” she replied, looking up from the paperwork that she was doing at her desk. “Is there something that I can help you with?”

“No, I just wanted to let you know that the Evans’ and I are here to see Petunia and Dudley,” he replied. “We’d appreciate it if we weren’t disturbed at all.”

“Well, you can be sure that I won’t be going anywhere – I’m not sure what I do more of, treating patients or paperwork,” she smiled. “Feel free to put up a privacy ward in case anyone comes in needing me.”

“Thanks, I’ll do that,” Harry replied.

With that, he pulled away from the doorframe that he was leaning on and led the rest of the way to the two occupied beds.

“Hello, Harry. Mike, Susan, I assume that these are your two?” Petunia said, looking at Mark and Melody trying to hide behind their parents.

“Hello, Petunia,” Mike replied and reached back to pull Mark out in front of him. “Petunia, Dudley, I’d like you to meet your cousins, Mark and Melody.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Petunia smiled. “You can call me Aunt Petunia, if you like.”

“I don’t like you!” Melody blurted, staring at Dudley. “You hurt us and stole our money!”

“Dudley?” a confused-sounding Petunia asked, staring at her son.

For his part, Dudley tried to shrink into his bed, his eyes darting about at everyone there.

“Fine. I’m sorry,” he eventually grumbled.

“I … I had no idea,” Petunia near-whispered, still staring at her son, perhaps seeing him for the very first time. “We’ll be talking about this later, Dudley.”

Dudley nodded and then his eyes widened at the sight of Harry with his wand out. “What are you doing with your … thing?”

“I’m making it so that no one else can hear our conversation,” Harry replied. “I thought that it was time that we had an Evans Family meeting.”

“Who put you in charge?” Dudley demanded. “I’m older than you and my Mum was older than your mum, even.”

“If you want to go down that route, Dudley, then my Father was older than your grandfather,” Mike pointed out, “but magically, Harry’s the Head of the family and this _is_ his school.”

Harry stared thoughtfully at Mike. He was right; if you traced the Lomas family line down, Mike was the Head, although being a muggle, that position would actually fall to Mark. He’d just never thought about it before as there was no family tapestry like there was with the other two Families. He’d have to give that some thought. Later, though; there were other things to think about now.

The five of them pulled up chairs between the two beds and sat.

“What is this meeting about, Harry?” Petunia asked warily.

“Actually, Aunt Petunia, it’s about you and Dudley,” he replied.

Petunia’s eyes darted across to her son before snapping back to pierce Harry with a wary look.

“What about us?” she asked.

This was the part that Harry wasn’t looking forward to. Yes, Aunt Petunia’s attitude had changed somewhat since the attack. Whether it was because she was on her best behaviour considering where she was or whether it was because the portkey that Harry’d given them had saved her and Dudley or something completely different, he didn’t know. All he knew at the moment was that if it kept up, he thought that he could eventually even come to like his aunt.

Dudley, though, was a different matter. He still whined and complained an awful lot, especially about not being allowed to do what he liked and not getting as much food as he wanted. Healer Jeffries was determined to get his weight under control, though, and she had final say in how much food the house elves were able to give him.

“I thought that we should decide what the two of you are going to do now,” Harry replied. “You can’t stay in this Hospital Wing forever.”

“I thought we’d just go home,” Dudley blurted. “Besides, school starts tomorrow.”

“While that’s true, you can’t go home, Dudley,” Susan said sadly, “or at least, not until it’s been rebuilt and it’s safe for you to do so.”

Petunia seemed to deflate somewhat.

“We can’t go back, can we? _They’d_ just find us again,” she said.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Petunia, but no,” Harry replied.

“What about Aunt Marge?” Dudley blurted. “We could stay with her.”

“As much as I like your father’s sister, I don’t think I could live with her and her dogs for very long at all,” Petunia replied.

“Besides, doing that would likely just put you back into danger and bring that danger to your aunt as well,” Harry replied. “I think that you really need to be somewhere with magical protections.”

“You’re not alone,” Susan said, reaching over to cover Petunia’s hand with her own. “We’ve had to give up our home and jobs as well so that we could be safe too.”

“This is your fault, Potter! It’s because of you that we’re in danger and our house was burnt down and that Dad’s dead,” Dudley spat.

Harry recoiled slightly and his head dropped momentarily.

“Dudley!” Petunia admonished. “I’ve told you that the only reason we’re still alive is because of the special watches that Harry gave us.”

“It’s alright, Aunt Petunia,” Harry said. “He’s right. It is because of me. Voldemort and his minions want me dead and are willing to hurt people to get to me.”

“So what, we’re trapped here in this freak place for the rest of our lives?” Dudley asked incredulously.

“There’s a lot worse places to be,” Mark said.

“I like it here,” Melody agreed. “The island’s fun.”

“What is going to happen to us?” Petunia asked.

“I have tried to find alternatives,” Harry admitted. “I thought of having you move into one of my other properties which has a whole bunch of magical protections, but it’s just not liveable at the moment and needs months of work before it would be, even with the house elves that I got to get the job done.”

Dobby, Harry knew, would keep him apprised of how the clean-up work at Peverell manor was progressing. At least once a week, he’d pop over and talk to the three new Potter cum Peverell elves, Wissom, Lexi and Doni and also find out if they needed anything.

“So, for now, I think that it’d be best if you stayed here on the island,” Harry continued.

Petunia sighed. “I suspected as much. But what are we to do here? We’re not … we’re not like you. And what about Dudley’s schooling? He can’t just drop out.”

“We have some ideas about that, if you’re willing to listen,” Mike replied.

“And as to being without magic, remember that neither Mike nor I can do magic and we live here and there’s others as well, like Dan and Emma Granger who come here to teach part-time.”

Petunia nodded slowly.

“We still have a number of staff quarters that aren’t being used at the moment,” Harry put in. “We could make it so that it’s protected from magic, so that no magic can be done in the room or magic from outside the room gets in. That way you could have some things in there like home – a radio and a hairdryer and what not. Of course, we’d have to get a small generator to run the power, but that wouldn’t be too hard.”

“What about TV?” Dudley asked.

“Maybe,” Harry temporised. “If we can find some way to shield the antenna. But no promises there. Internet’s definitely out. We just can’t shield the cables we’d need to run from the island to the mainland.”

“That’s all very well,” Petunia interrupted, “but what about Dudley’s schooling and what would I do here?”

“Both very good questions that I think we have some ideas about, if you’re willing, of course,” Harry replied. “Firstly, like Dudley, most of the students here are working towards their A-levels. That means that there are classes here for normal subjects – mathematics, English, science, PE, History, Art, even foreign languages. There’s nothing stopping Dudley from joining in with any or even all of those classes. Magic isn’t used in them, so you won’t be the only one.”

“Okay, I could see how that could work,” Petunia nodded slowly.

“As to where you would live, Dudley,” Harry continued. “There’s two options for you. You could live with your mum or you could live in the dorms with everyone else your age. In my dormitory, the Prefect room is actually vacant – we’ve got two Prefects, twins, who preferred to take one of the double rooms. You could have that room, if you want. It’s designed for only one person, so you’d have extra room to spread out.”

“Bullying of any kind is not tolerated at Diricawl,” Mike stated flatly. “So, wherever you decide to live, you’ll need to leave that behaviour behind. There will be strict consequences if you fall back into your old habits.”

Dudley’s eyes darted about at the determined expressions of everyone about him, including, surprisingly to him, his mothers.

“O…okay,” he said meekly. “And … and if I have to stay here, I think I’d prefer to live in a dorm rather than with you, Mum. Sorry.”

“That’s alright, Dudley,” Petunia smiled. “That is what you’re used to from Smeltings, after all.”

“As soon as Healer Jeffries checks you out after we’re done here, we’ll get you moved across,” Harry said.

“And we’ll need to take the two of you shopping to get some clothes and whatever else you need,” Susan added.

“What about me?” Petunia asked. “What will I do with myself all day? I don’t want to be stuck in my room like some kind of prisoner.”

“There is something that we’d like you to consider,” Mike said.

“Oh?” Petunia asked.

“There is one position in the school that we’ve never been able to fill: Secretary,” Mike explained.

“Secretary? You mean filing and keeping things organised, that type of thing?” Petunia asked.

Susan nodded. “Exactly. Along with greeting any visitors to the school or being there if the staff or students need something organised. Not to mention keeping a track of which rooms are in use or are booked for use. Most school secretaries that I’ve met are really the ones who are in charge of a school.”

“Just imagine it, Aunt Petunia, a non-magical person in charge of a magical school,” Harry encouraged.

“I think … I think that it could be something that I’d like to know more about,” Petunia eventually said.

“Well, how about after we’ve got you out of here and settled into your new rooms, you come down to the Reception area and have a look around and you can talk to Minerva as well and see what you think then?” Susan smiled.

“Yes, I’d like that,” Petunia replied.

“Right, then,” Harry said, pulling the school prospective from his pocket. “While we’re waiting for Healer Jefferies to come and release you, Dudley can decide what classes he’d like to take.

-oOoOo-

Dudley Dursley pulled on his new tie. The deep forest green with slim, golden, diagonal stiped piece of cloth wasn’t all that different from his Smeltings tie, but it’d been a few months since he’d had to wear one. At least he didn’t have to wear that ridiculous bloater on his head and the black cargo pants were more comfortable than his old, school pants.

Where usually he had his Smeltings stick at hand ready to smack anyone who got in his way or anyone who he just felt like hitting, he was now limited to leaning heavily on the cane in his hand. Walking was painful, especially in his left leg. He’d been assured that it’d get better, but no one knew whether he’d be stuck with this limp for life.

Today was the first day of his new classes at his new school. He still wasn’t happy about being here, really, what kind of school didn’t have _boxing_? Unfortunately, his mother had insisted that he try to fit in, if for no other reason than to show these fr… er, _others_ , that he was as good as them even if he didn’t have their m-stuff.

Slowly, Dudley hobbled to the room down the corridor that his new timetable indicated that his very first class was to be held in.

By the time that he’d arrived and attempted to slip his bulk in unnoticed, the others were already there and seated. His eyes darted about, seeking the best place to sit – ideally, somewhere in the back, preferably in a corner where he was less likely to be noticed.

He noticed his cousin briefly lock eyes with him and shift in his seat as though he was about to get up for some reason, but Dudley ignored him. Unfortunately, there was only the one seat left and he resignedly shuffled to the left and to the middle row to sit on the end beside a Chinese girl.

“Welcome to History of the Mundane World,” his cousin, Susan, said from the front of the room. “You hopefully all know my name by now, but in case you’ve forgotten, I’m Professor Evans. Those of you also doing English will have me for that subject as well, which, I suspect is almost all of you.

“History of the Mundane World is a core subject that will count towards you’re A-levels. We have a lot to catch up in the next couple of years to make sure that you are ready. We will be exploring each time period and ancient civilization up through the Dark Ages and the Renaissance and into modern times.

“This term we will start with Ancient Sumeria. Can anyone tell me anything that they know about this civilization?’

Instantly, the bushy-haired girlfriend of his cousin, Hermione, Dudley thought her name was, raised her hand.

“Hermione?” Professor Evans asked.

“Sumerian runes are some of the most basic but also some of the most powerful …” she began before Professor Evans held up a hand to stop her.

“Yes, that’s good, Hermione, but this is the History of the Mundane World. Anything that you know about a culture or a time period from a magical perspective we’re going to leave at the door,” Professor Evans said. “After all, you can’t write about magical societies on your A-level test, can you? Does anyone know anything about the mundane Sumerian Empire?”

Dudley glanced around the room. His History class at Smeltings had covered this two years ago. And while he didn’t remember much, there were a few things that stuck in his mind. He swallowed hard as he realised that he was probably the only one who could answer the question.

Ever so slowly, Dudley did something that he’d never done in a class before: he raised his hand to voluntarily answer a question.

Professor Evans smiled at him. “Dudley?”

“The Sumerian Empire was made up of a bunch of city-states?’ he said.

“That’s right, Dudley. In fact, the largest of these city-states is thought to have been the home to over eighty thousand people …”

-oOoOo-

“Fred, George, do you guys have a minute?” Harry asked after knocking on their twin’s open door.

“Of course, young Harry …” Fred said, looking up from the book that was flicking through while lying on his bed.

“Our door is always open …” George gestured grandly.

“As you’ve just discovered …” Fred pointed out.

“It is, after all …”

“Our sworn …”

“Solemn …” George emphasised.

“Duty as your dormitory Prefects.”

“How can we help?” they finished together.

After entering, Harry stuck his head back out into the corridor before quickly closing the door behind him.

“You know, Harry, we did just say that our door was always open,” George stated.

“I think that you’ve just turned us into liars,” Fred pointed out.

“Just?” George asked turning to his brother.

“Well, we’ve never really lied before,” Fred said.

“Too true, brother, we’ve never lied,” George nodded.

“Bent the truth …”

“Skirted around it …”

“Snuck up on it from its blind side …”

“But never actually lied,” George finished.

“Are you two finished?” Harry asked, feeling as though he was about to develop a jinked neck from having to swivel his head backwards and forwards constantly.

“Well, we can be …”

“As long as you tell us why you’re being so mysterious,” said Fred.

“Well, it’s about this,” Harry said, pulling out a well-worn piece of old parchment from his pocket.

“Is that?” Fred asked reverently.

“It is,” George said, his eyes wide.

Together, the two scooted closer.

“Can we?” George asked.

“For old times’ sake?” Fred asked.

At Harry’s nod, the two whipped out their wands and touched the tips to the parchment.

“We solemnly swear that we are up to no good,” they intoned together.

Instantly, black ink appeared where their wand tips were before spreading out to encompass the newly formed Marauder’s Map.

“Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs,” George said reverently, staring at their names.

“Our heroes …”

“We owe them so much.”

“And now two of them are going to be your teachers,” Harry finished.

“Yeah,” they replied dreamily.

The twins blinked back to reality and looked at the map properly.

“I see Dumbledore is still pacing in his office,” George remarked.

“And Snape is stalking in his dungeon,” Fred agreed.

“Some of the dorms look a little light on,” Harry commented.

“So, what is it about the Map that you wanted help with, young Harry?” Fred asked.

“Well, it’s not so much the map,” Harry replied. “After all, with us living here, it’s not exactly much use to us, is it? No, what I was wondering is, how hard do you think it would be to make a new map?”

“A new map?” George asked.

“Why would you want a new one?” Fred asked.

“Unless young Harry’s not thinking of a new _Hogwarts_ map, brother,” George pointed out.

“Ooo, _yes_ , a _new_ one,” Fred said, his eyes shining brightly in excitement.

Harry grinned at the two; he’d figured that it wouldn’t take them long to work out what he had in mind.

“I’ll admit that we had a look at the charms that went into making it but the risk was just too great that we’d damage it in some way if we delved too deeply,” George admitted.

“What we could determine, though, was that it was incredibly complex. Not really something that we could understand,” added Fred.

“Admittedly, we _were_ just second years at the time,” George stated.

“But perhaps now, between the three of us …” said Fred.

“Especially with your runes and arithmancy knowledge, Harry …” George put in.

“We might have better luck replicating it,” Fred finished.

Harry grinned at them. “That’s what I was hoping. And if worst comes to worst, we have access to two of the original map’s designers.”

Matching grins beamed back at him.

“Shall we get to work?” Fred asked, flourishing his wand.


	17. Chapter 17

As quickly as he could, Percy Weasley waved his wand over the parchment to dry the ink that he’d just written and rolled up the top of the parchment, allowing him extra room to write his next set of notes down.

Currently, Percy was perched in a corner of the meeting room behind a tiny table, trying very hard to be inconspicuous, while at the same time ensuring that he got everything of importance written down, just as a good Junior Assistant to the Minister should. This wasn’t his first meeting and he’d been complimented on his dictation and note-taking skills many times, but in this cut-throat world of politics within the Minister’s Office, one slip-up could easily earn one a demotion.

Noting the Minister turn her gaze to the next Department Head in line, Percy quickly dipped his quill in his ink bottle before holding it poised and ready.

“Amelia, how fares the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? I trust that you have managed to finally catch some of the miscreants doing our society harm, hmm?” the simpering girly voice of the Minister for Magic, Delores Umbridge asked.

Percy lowered his head, making a note with his quill, allowing his face to be hidden.

_‘Miscreants’? Really?_ he wondered. _Call them what they are: murderers, torturers and rapists._

Amelia’s lips thinned even as her eyebrows drew together.

“No. We haven’t,” she replied shortly.

“Surely you are making this a priority? After all, our magical citizens are being hunted and killed. One must find those responsible so that they can be punished.”

“My Department is doing the best that we can,” Amelia stated. “We’re under staffed, working on an extremely limited budget and we’re forced to react rather than be proactive in our investigations. If you’d agree to putting the new wards around the Ministry …”

“We have had this discussion, Amelia and my answer is firm,” the Minister interrupted with an off-hand wave of her hand. “This is the Ministry of Magic. It is here that the power of the wizards and witches of our mighty realm govern diligently and effectively for the betterment of all. Our own ward-masters have determined the most efficient wards that we need; and remember that human ingenuity is far superior to anything that a goblin could ever conceive of, let alone create.”

“But Minister, those wards have been proven effective,” Amelia argued. “They can detect anyone with a Dark Mark! I firmly believe that there are infiltrators within this building passing on information to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

“I find that I must question that very effectiveness,” Umbridge replied. “Aren’t these the very same wards that that _school_ has erected?”

“Yes,” Amelia replied and Percy could see her wondering where this line of questioning was going.

“And there you have it,” Umbridge replied. “And after what they did to poor Walden Macnair, bouncing him off of them to land fifty miles out to sea, I refuse to even consider them. It was just lucky that he was able to apparate back to dry land and didn’t catch a nasty cold. No, there is no way that I am willing to authorise something that could be so detrimental to those who were marked when they were under the vile imperio curse.

“I will not have those innocent people suffer the indignity of being shunted into one of your holding cells every time that they come in to work. And by continuing to ask for these wards, it seems to me, dear Amelia, that you don’t trust your fellow witches and wizards. We all must stand together, trusting in each other to do our duty to magical Britain, for the good of the people.

“Do not ask again or I will be forced to consider whether you can, in fact, actually do your job with the great resources that you have been given.”

Percy wasn’t sure how to record that statement. At the beginning of the report, Madam Bones had claimed that she had little funds and a lack of staff and one would assume that the Head of the Department would best know what resources they had available. In contrast, the Minister claimed that the Department had an overabundance of resources. Finally, after his quill had been hovering for nearly a full minute, he erred on the side of caution and wrote it up in favour of the Minister’s interpretation.

Luckily, nothing of importance had been said during his moment of indecision.

Noting the Minister turn her pink cardiganed, toad-like body about until it was facing the next Department Head in line, Percy prepared himself.

“Mister Sheppardton, now that the school year had begun, could we have your report on how the Department of Magical Education sees the coming year as progressing. I assume that we will once again outshine all other countries?” the Minister asked with a small smile on her face.

Tiberius folded his hands together and gravely shook his head.

“To be honest, Madam Minister, at this time, I cannot predict how the results of the students of magical Britain will compare to the rest of the world,” he replied.

“And why, exactly is this?” Umbridge asked. “Hogwarts has been the premier school in the world for countless centuries.”

“That’s just it, Minister, we haven’t held that title for many years,” Tiberius replied with a shake of his head.

Gasps and mutterings of outrage swept the room until they were silenced by the mere raising of the pudgy hand of the Minister.

“Surely you are mistaken, Tiberius,” Umbridge stated.

“I wish I was, Madam,” Tiberius replied. “I have spoken to my counterparts in France, Spain, Egypt, Greece, Japan, Australia and the United States and our OWL and NEWT results have slowly declined while theirs has risen. On the world scale, we now rank eighth and there are a host of other nations snapping at our heels like crups.”

“I don’t understand,” the Minister said in her high girly voice. “What you are saying does not make sense in the slightest. This is Great Britain, we have always been the leader of the magical world in every way conceivable.”

Tiberius roved his eyes around the table, as though making sure that every eye was upon him before beginning his lecture.

“In the past seven or eight decades, the magical education in Britain, and by extension, Hogwarts, has become stagnant. The same teaching practices and methodologies have been in place for all of that time. And that includes most of our texts that we teach from; there is very little difference in what we teach now from what was taught in our grandparent’s time.

“In contrast, our educational counterparts in other countries are constantly changing and adapting to new inventions and knowledge, assuring that their students are taught the newest and most relevant information in every subject. Hogwarts has actually _stopped teaching_ nearly a dozen subjects in the past fifty years alone. There is no way that we can keep up, let alone compete.”

“But … but Hogwarts …”

“Is this Dumbledore’s fault?” Umbridge asked, cutting across the protest of her Department Heads.

Tiberius sighed. “Perhaps partly, but not wholly. What we have found is that it is a symptom of our society as a whole. We are all reluctant to change, to experience new things, especially if that knowledge did not originate from within Magical Britain. The fact that Hogwarts has never been challenged within our own borders academically before is also partly to blame.”

“Before? Are you saying that Hogwarts is currently being challenged academically?” Madam Bones asked

That question had Percy looking up to see if he could see a smirk or something similar on her face. Unsurprisingly, he failed to see anything other than a mild look of curiosity.

“To be blunt, yes,” the Head of Magical Education replied. “For the first time in a long time, Britain has a second school. And even though Diricawl Academy is still in its infancy, it has already produced students normally considered far too young to do so successfully gaining an Outstanding OWL result.

“Because of this, we are currently in the process of overhauling every single OWL and NEWT examination that we give so that they are more in line with those from other countries. Once we have done that, we intend on reviving some of the examinations that have fallen from the broom over the years.”

“A commendable goal,” Umbridge allowed. “It is, of course, of paramount importance that Hogwarts, and by extension Magical Britain, once more take its place as the pinnacle of magical education in the world. Is there anything that the government can do to assist you in this task?”

“Five thousand galleons would be a good start. Ten thousand would ensure that the job gets done,” the Head of Department stated.

“ _Ten thousand galleons_! How in Merlin’s name could it cost so much?” Umbridge gasped.

“Everything adds up. We’re going to need more staff; it will cost to get copies of OWL and NEWT examinations from around the world; Hogwarts herself needs an infusion of galleons …”

“Exactly why would we need to give extra money to Hogwarts? The stipend that we already give, in conjunction with the tuition that the students pay, has always been more than adequate,” Umbridge said.

“Adequate, yes, if all that we’re doing is aiming to maintain the status quo. But things have changed. For one, we want to update the subjects and equipment. For another, while the Ministry stipend has remained constant for more than three decades, the number of students contributing to Hogwarts’ upkeep has been declining. Fort the past decade, Hogwarts has been operating at approximately half of its capacity and now, with Diricawl factored in, that number is declining rapidly.”

“Surely a mere handful of students won’t make that much of a difference,” Umbridge tittered.

“A handful like last year, no, but Diricawl currently has an enrolment of forty-six students and I fully expect that number to rise,” Tiberius replied.

“Is this true?” Umbridge asked.

Percy, for one, knew it to be the case; indeed, four of his siblings were currently enrolled in the new school. Luckily for him, though, one of the members of the Diricawl Board was seated at the table, meaning that he was able to keep his head down.

“Diricawl has the capacity to take one hundred and thirty-two students,” Amelia answered the pointed look.

“What is it about this school that makes it so attractive? Is it simply the allure of The-Boy-Who-Lived-Again?” Umbridge asked the room at large.

“Considering that the majority of our students are either muggle-born or have been raised with knowledge of muggle society, I believe that it is more that they and their parents see Diricawl as being forward and progressive, able to offer many times the number of subjects and opportunities than has ever been available at Hogwarts,” Amelia answered easily.

“And when you add in the fact that Dircawl also includes offering a muggle education, giving the students the option of living and working in both worlds, well, surely you can see the attraction. Harry Potter, if he plays a role in their decision to go there at all, is only a very small part of that decision,” Amelia finished with a shrug.

Even from Percy’s seat, he could see the indignant and borderline furious look on the Minister’s face. The fact that she didn’t even try to hide it spoke volumes, volumes that Percy was sure _not_ to include in his report on the meeting.

“Tiberius, your five thousand is approved immediately; the other five thousand is not out of the question, but may require a small amount of work to make available,” Umbridge stated.

“Thank you, Minister,” Tiberius replied, inclining his head deeply. “I will ensure that I give regular updates on our progress and expected outcomes.”

“I expected no less,” the Minister replied.

-oOoOo-

“This is the file that I requested?”

“Yes, Minister,” Percy replied, handing the file that he’d just copied from the Department of Magical Education to her eager pudgy hands.

“Excellent work as usual, Weasley. That will be all,” the Minster said, dismissing him.

Percy inclined his head in respect before retreating from the room.

Working in the Ministry, particularly within the Minister for Magic’s office had been his dream for a very long time. He saw it as the first step to when he could possibly occupy the office himself.

But working for Minister Umbridge wasn’t quite like he imagined it to be. She was constantly contradicting herself and seemed to have an agenda that he couldn’t quite figure out. Oh, he had no problem with Minister’s having agendas, after all, how would things get done if plans weren’t made. No, what stymied Percy was the fact that he couldn’t figure out the Minister’s ultimate plan.

Umbridge had only been appointed as an interim Minster and if it had been Percy, he would have been working towards doing his best for the most number of people, thus ensuring that he was elected properly before setting in on changing things that needed to be changed.

Umbridge, though, seemed determined to do everything in her power to promote the agenda for the rich and powerful purebloods. For example, he had overhead a snippet of conversation between Rowle Snr and the Minister and the next thing he knew, the DMLE budget had been reduced and the money was redirected into creating wards around the centaur territory so that they couldn’t leave it, even if they wanted to, not that they would, with what he knew about the creatures.

And now, it seemed, Umbridge had fixed her sights on Diricawl Academy. Exactly what she had in mind for the school that his siblings were now attending was anyone’s guess. He had half a mind to tell someone about it, not that he knew exactly what he could tell – a bunch of half-brewed thoughts, did not a warning make – or even who to tell.

No, for now, he’d just continue to watch and see what happened.

-oOoOo-

“The Minister for Magic has the floor,” Gawain Pritchards, the new Chief Warlock announced.

Umbridge immediate hopped up from her seat, bowed to the Chief Warlock and turned to face the Members of the Wizengamot. She was so glad that she’d been able to oust the doddering old fool from his position as Chief Warlock. The disaster of the TriWizard Tournament and particularly the demise of the previous Minister for Magic on the very grounds of the school that Dumbledore claimed were the safest in the word was easily enough to have him dismissed.

“Distinguished Members of the Wizengamot,” she began, being sure to focus on those that actually _were_ distinguished, not the half-bloods masquerading as such, nor the blood traitors like Black, Bones and Greengrass. “It has recently been brought to my attention that magical Britain is in danger of losing its preeminent status as having the greatest and best education system in the world.”

As expected, there were muttering, murmurings and shouts of outrage, that this could not be allowed to happen, all music to her ears.

“Members, as soon as I was made aware of this fact, I acted,” she continued. “Funds have been made available to the Department of Magical Education, resources allocated and the Department has been tasked with rectifying this sad, sad state of affairs. The Department will be examining in minute detail every subject and teaching practice that exists within Britain and will be overhauling our OWL and NEWT examinations to ensure that our children are receiving the very best education available. After all, our children are our future and our future must be protected, nurtured and encouraged to be the very best that it can be.

“In addition to these measures that I have mandated, I set myself the goal of discovering how this sad state of affairs came to be. And what I have found has greatly disturbed me. Hogwarts, the crowning glory of magical Britain’s magical education system, has fallen into stagnation. Once, Hogwarts’ walls were teeming with young and impressionable minds, a thousand students all eager to learn the mysteries of magic and to master them.

“Now, though, now Hogwarts is looking after far less than half of what she should. The reason for this became obvious as I searched the records,” Umbridge stated and she could see that she had her audience captivated, captivated and outraged at what she was telling them. She simply couldn’t help but smile.

“Magical blood must be cherished, no matter its origin, we all here know this, that regardless of your origins, there is a place within our society for magicals,” she continued. “However, for the past half century, much magical blood has been lost to us. Hogwarts, and by extension every one of us, nurture and teach all alike, muggleborns, half-bloods and purebloods.

“But a very large percent of muggleborns and many, many half-bloods have been allowed to leave our society after finishing their magical schooling. And with the loss of those muggleborns and half-bloods, those of us who are left must carry on ensuring that our society continues to function. Low-level jobs that would ordinarily be filled by those that have left must now be done by purebloods.

“And with more and more purebloods forced to work, to serve our society, it has seen a corresponding decrease in the number of children that we produce and are able to send to Hogwarts. And this is compounded by the fact that those lost to us invariably fail to send their children back to Hogwarts, keeping them ignorant of our ways.

“And with smaller and smaller numbers of students at Hogwarts, our great institution has been forced to operate on a smaller budget, causing stagnation. This trend must not be allowed to continue,” she stated, a decree that she was very pleased to see was being echoed around the great chamber.

“To this end, I would like to propose the introduction of Educational Decree Number Twenty-two,” she said. “Educational Decree Number Twenty-two is designed to ensure that Hogwarts retains her vaulted status as our leading magical institution of learning in the country. It will ensure that not only students, but funding, is given to the great school so that she can teach our children in the very best way possible.

“From the introduction of this Decree, all students with magical blood, regardless of where they are being educated, be it in the wizarding world or the muggle world, will be required to pay a stipulated fee directly to the Department of Magical Education, a fee that will then be used where it is most needed, be it within the Department itself to ensure that our teaching practices and magical knowledge is up to date or funnelled through to Hogwarts herself to improve the school.

“It is our hope that if students who are not currently studying magic at Hogwarts realise that they are helping to fund the great school, that they may be enticed back to her walls and the best magical school not only in Britain, but also in the world.”

The applause that met Delores’ ears at the end of her speech was music to her ears. Glancing around she could already see that she had very close to a majority of the Wizengamot ready to back her Decree. The main hold-outs were the afore mentioned blood-traitors, Black, Bones, Greengrass, Abbot, Longbottom and their allies.

“Thank you, Madam Minister,” Chief Warlock Pritchards said. “Your Educational Decree will give this chamber much to think on and discuss between now and the next meeting of the Wizengamot where the Decree will be debated and voted upon. We now move on to our next order of business. Member Croxley, you have the floor.”


	18. Chapter 18

“ _She introduced_ **_what_**?” Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Diricawl Academy nearly screeched.

“You heard, Minerva,” Augusta Longbottom snapped.

From the very instant that Augusta, Sirius, Cyrus Greengrass and Brendon Abbot nearly stormed into the Headmistress’ office, tensions had been high. And now that their news had been imparted to Minerva and Remus, they, too, shared feelings of shock, anger and disbelief.

“How is this legal?” Remus asked. “To force students and parents to pay a … a tax, I suppose is the best way of describing it, to force them to pay a tax for services that they won’t even _use_ in a lot of cases, it’s just …”

In the end, he trailed off, his hands moving to indicate that he didn’t have the words to describe what he was feeling and his head shaking in disbelief.

“Unfortunately, if Umbridge gets this passed in the Wizengamot next month, it’ll be legal simply because the Wizengamot says so,” Augusta stated.

“Not moral or right, but definitely legal,” Sirius agreed.

“How likely is this to pass?” Minerva asked, dreading the answer.

The four Wizengamot members looked to each other before Cyrus sighed.

“Quite,” he said. “From what I could tell, there seemed to be a lot of support for the idea.”

“It’s the old pureblood members that are the problem,” Brendon added. “They’ll vote for anything that sees the ancient traditions and culture being promoted, especially if it’s at the expense of the muggleborns.”

“There were a lot of murmurings after the session from those purebloods that made me think that they’ll want to turn the tax into a two-tier system – a smaller, token amount for those who attend Hogwarts and a larger tax for those with magic who don’t,” Cyrus said.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a third tier,” Sirius added, “aimed at those with magic who’ve refused to educate their children in the magical world at all.”

“What sort of figures are we talking about? How much are they going to charge each student?” Minerva asked. “We’ve got some, like the Creevey boys, who can pay the tuition, but an Education Tax on top of it would force them to either give up their magical education or to transfer back to Hogwarts.”

Augusta shook her head. “No figure has yet been mentioned. Without a doubt, it’ll be more than a lot can afford.”

“Lionel, I should think, will be the worst affected of all of our students,” Remus said grimly. “He’s only here because of the scholarship that Sirius set up, a scholarship that in no way will be able to cover an extra tax.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll cover it,” Sirius grimly assured his best friend.

“What’s Umbridge’s ultimate goal?” Minerva asked. “Surely there’s a reason behind this Decree that she’s introduced.”

“I don’t know,” Cyrus said “Umbridge did point out that when Harry, Hermione, Hannah and the Creevey boys took those OWLs, it exposed some serious flaws within the Department of Magical Education. She’s already authorised five thousand galleons for the Department to use to examine teaching practices and what information is being taught within each subject area, not to mention overhauling both the OWL and NEWT examinations with the intension of bringing the educational standard within Britain back to where it was decades ago: being the best in the world.”

“She kept pointing out that Hogwarts is an institution,” Sirius continued.

At that, Remus couldn’t help but snort. “It’s a jolly _school_ , by very definition, of course it’s an _institution_!”

“And that Hogwarts should be seen as the pinnacle of Britain’s magical education system,” Sirius continued.

Minerva sat back in her chair, one finger tapping on the armrest as she thought.

“So, this is a ploy to get Hogwarts more funds,” she mused.  “We’ve taken over forty students from an already depleted enrolment and we have the potential to take a whole lot more.”

Suddenly she straightened, her eyes focussing on the group in her office.

“We’re the problem. We represent a challenge, showing that Hogwarts’ academic record can not only be matched, but surpassed. And our very existence has upset an already delicate budget. When I was still Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, it was always a juggle balancing the books. The less students we had, the less money that we had to get things done. That’s why, for example, the school brooms were such poor quality – I simply could not funnel any money into replacing them.”

“Doesn’t the Ministry subsidise the school?” Remus asked.

“It does, but that amount hasn’t been increased in all the time that I worked there,” Minerva confirmed.

“So, we can safely assume that Umbridge’s ultimate goal is to see Diricawl closed down,” Sirius stated grimly. “Having our students back at Hogwarts would give it a bit more money to play with and would mean that the Ministry will be under a lot less scrutiny when people start asking why it’s not doing something about the falling standards there.”

“The Ministry does have a habit of doing what it can to eliminate any competition to Hogwarts,” Augusta pointed out. “How many rival schools have been started over the last few centuries? And not one of them lasted longer than a couple of years.”

“And it’s worse than that,” Remus pointed out. “Umbridge has always had a massive problem with anyone not of pure magical blood or of pure human descent – just look at how many of the recent werewolf laws she’s had a hand in. And with the diverse teaching staff we have, not to mention that we have a _werewolf_ student …”

“I’d say that it’s even more imperative that we keep Mister Hawkins’ affliction secret for now,” Minerva agreed, before focussing on the four Wizengamot members. “What happens now?’

“Now we campaign,” Augusta stated. “We have one month to convince enough Members to vote the Decree down. If we don’t, then it’ll pass and the tax will become a law, a law that it will be very hard to ever have repealed.”

“Assuming that it is passed, how will the amount be determined?” Remus asked.

“That’ll be decided in the debating part of passing the Decree,” Cyrus explained.

“Then I suggest that the four of you have some work to do,” Minerva stated, eliciting some grim nods from those gathered in front of her desk.

-oOoOo-

Petunia Dursley tentatively stepped into the Reception area of Diricawl Academy and looked around.

She’d been in here before; the Headmistress, Minerva, she reminded herself, had shown her yesterday and explained what the duties would be if she agreed to take on the role. Harry, she recalled, had hovered near the door to the classroom wing, watching. Petunia wasn’t sure if he’d been worried for her or Minerva or just curious, but in some small, obscure way, his presence had helped.

Now, though, she was here by herself and she was free to get the feel of the area that she was going to be in charge of.

There was a long counter at the front with a second bench running the length of it on the inside below it. Cupboards and filing cabinets lined one side and another desk, hers, was on the opposite side beside the door that she’d just entered. At the very back of the area was a second door, this one leading down a narrow corridor that had numerous doors on either side of it leading to the professor’s offices.

In all, the Reception area wasn’t large, but it was sufficient for what was needed, she supposed.

It was here that she was responsible for greeting any visitors to the school and directing them to the appropriate person or place. It was here that she would ensure that filing was carried out from the papers that the professors gave her. It was here that she would produce the timetables and ensure that there were no overlaps in bookings of rooms. It would be her job, from here, to ensure that the school ran smoothly and efficiently.

She was sure that she could do it. After all, if there was one thing that Petunia Dursley cherished, it was order. And it would also be the best place to also hear everything that was going on.

Stepping more fully into the area, Petunia decided to investigate every nook and cranny of it. After all, if this was going to be her domain, then she was going to make it hers. A glance at the bare counter was enough to already give her one idea. Flowers. A vase of flowers in the corner would be perfect. Now all she’d have to do was gather up the courage to speak to the strange little th… creature … house elf, she firmly reminded herself, in charge of the plants and grounds.

-oOoOo-

Chert looked at the eager faces before him, unsure whether he should be glaring at them for their impertinence or happy that they were willing to do this. For now, he decided, he’d withhold judgement. If they proved worthy, showed that they were willing to work hard and do what he told them, then he _might_ be inclined to enjoy this task.

When Slipshard had first approached him about becoming the Head of Security for the new school, he’d leapt at the chance. Anything to get away from the cutthroat world of the goblin security team that he’d been assigned to – and that was a literal cutthroat group; Chert had seen two of the higher ranked member of the squad replaced by their subordinates in that very manner.

His cousin had offered him a way out, though, and he’d taken it.

And helping to design and implement the security on the island had been very satisfying. Now, if only his cousin had mentioned this _other_ task, he might be able to find himself able to speak to him again sometime this decade.

Teaching! Him! Teaching human children the goblin language. When he’d first been told that he would have a small class, that everyone there had at least two jobs, he’d grumbled. But really, he’d convinced himself, what were the chances of any of the children actually _wanting_ to learn gobblegook?

This though, this before him was completely unexpected. And unwanted. Briefly, the idea flashed through his mind of refusing to do it, but that, of course, would mean returning to the security squad in the depths of Gringotts, something completely out of the question. His second thought was to make it such a hard class that the children would voluntarily leave of their own accord.

The problem was their faces – all eager to learn, looking expectantly up at him and showing him _respect_.

With an internal growl of frustration, Chert met his class’ eyes determinedly, exactly how a goblin warrior should when facing battle. And still the six kept his gaze.

The oldest two were the red-head twins, the ones he’d been told to watch out for. As if anyone would _willingly_ prank or joke with a goblin! He couldn’t tell them apart and had no intention of even attempting to. The next two were Harry Potter and the Longbottom boy, each with a vast fortune attached to their families. The fact that they were willing to learn the language of those who guarded their money raised Chert’s opinion of them a slight amount. The last two were a pair of third year girls. Vivian Reeves and Audrey Kettleburn, his class list named them as.

“You are here because you want to learn the goblin language,” Chert stated.

The correspondingly eager nods almost had him groaning. Nevertheless, he pushed on.

“This won’t be easy,” he assured them. “Human vocal chords are designed differently than goblin ones, so you’re going to have to force yourself to produce sounds that you ordinarily wouldn’t.”

A raised hand stopped him and he blinked.

“Potter?” he asked.

“Do you know how the vocal chords are different?” he asked.

“No. You want to know, look it up yourself,” Chert grunted, wondering what the purpose behind such a stupid question was. A fact was a fact, you couldn’t change it, let alone one’s own vocal chords.

“Gobbledegook is an intricate language,” Chert continued. “A singular word could have a variety of meanings, depending on the situation, the words surrounding it and in some cases, even the time of day or season. This is not something that a human can learn in one year. Maybe by the time you two leave,” he said to Potter and Longbottom, “you’ll be adequate. If you two,” this time he indicated the females, “continue to study every day, every year from now until you leave, you might be proficient.”

Chert paused then, waiting, watching to see what would happen. None left or even shuffled about. Pity. He began to wonder if there might be something in these six that would mean that they were going to be worthy students. Time would tell.

“Before we begin your first lesson. Rules. If you’re going to turn up late, don’t bother turning up at all, I won’t let you into that lesson. My time is not yours to waste. Also, I’m the Security Chief here and that means that I might not always be available for lessons. I still expect you to be here regardless of my presence. If I’m not here, you will revise the last lesson or do the work that I have left you. No excuses will be tolerated for failure to do the work. Understand?”

Chert eyed his students intently, only to receive answering nods.

“Good. Let’s begin. On your feet,” he commanded.

Instantly the six scrambled from their cross-legged position on the ground to stand in a loose semicircle before him.

“Before you even attempt to speak to a goblin, you must know how to conduct yourselves,” Chert stated. “So, for this lesson, you’re going to learn how to approach a goblin and make him look at you favourably.”

And thus began Chert’s first lesson, teaching the six how to bow properly, as a goblin would, depending on the rank of the goblin that they were approaching.

Frustratingly, not one of the six complained about not learning a single word in gobbledegook or even questioned him on his choice of lesson. And worse still, every single one of them followed his instructions perfectly, even if they were having trouble learning some of the more intricate rules that he was attempting to impart.

Grudgingly, Chert decided that there was possibly, maybe, some glimmer of gold to be found in teaching human children.

-oOoOo-

“That was intense,” Neville stated, flopping on to his bed, his satchel falling to the floor where he dropped it.

“I knew it’d be tough, but no way did I think Chert’d be that bad,” Harry agreed, dumping his bag on his desk and beginning to pull out the books that he’d used that morning in preparation for replacing them with the ones he’d need after lunch.

“Thanks, Harry,” Neville said, rolling over to face his roommate. “If you hadn’t given us a head’s up on what to expect, I think that we all would have been scared off. I know that I was about ready to run from the room before he even started us on all those bowing lessons. The way that he was glaring at us,” he finished with a shiver.

“Yeah, well, it was the least that I could do,” Harry waved off. “Besides, if anyone deserves the thanks, it’s Slipshard. He was the one to warn me what his cousin was likely to be like.”

“And what was up with that question about vocal chords or whatever?” Neville asked, referencing the only question that any of them had asked throughout the entire lesson. “Seemed a pretty weird question to me.”

Harry grinned at him. “Metamorphmagus, remember? If I can work out how to change my vocal chords, it might give me an edge on learning the language.”

“I really hate you sometimes, you know that?”

The fact that Neville was laughing belied that statement and it was a laugh that Harry easily joined in with.

“Reckon it’ll get any easier?” Neville asked.

“Bound to. We just keep doing what we’re doing and he’ll ease off, right?” Harry replied, the hope in his voice mixed with doubt.

“I hope so, Harry, I really hope so,” Neville groaned.

-oOoOo-

“This is the place?” Auror Kingsley Shaklebolt’s deep rumbling voice asked.

“Yeah, this is it,” Alastor Moody agreed, “I can see him in there.”

The two were currently standing in the shadows of some bushes in a small park observing a house across the street and two down from said park. It was a quite ordinary house, two stories high with a pleasant, if somewhat unkempt garden in front. It was also completely muggle, not a skerrick of detectable magic anywhere in it, on it or even in the neighbourhood.

For all intents and purposes, it made it the perfect place for a magical to hide – no one would think to look for him there. It also meant that said magical had to be extremely careful not to draw the attention of the surrounding muggles. And this was especially true if said house did not, in fact, belong to said magical.

And that is where Horace Slughorn had slipped up.

Moody had been tipped off by one of his contacts in the muggle police department about reports coming from this house. It seemed that the neighbours had noticed that the house was occasionally occupied – lights coming from inside, the odd noise and such. The problem was that the owners of this house were known to be on an around the world cruise and had been for the past four months. The muggle police had investigated, of course, and come up empty.

But with Moody’s magical eye that could see through objects with ease, all that it had taken was a single glance to confirm that the house was occupied and with their quarry no less.

Horace Slughorn, former Slytherin Head of House and Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A man who had once taught Tom Riddle, before the boy had become the Dark Lord Voldemort. Sudghorn had shared a memory of a particular conversation with Dumbledore who’d since shared it with a select group aimed at bringing about the end of Voldemort. The problem was that Slughorn had tampered with the memory, leaving vital information out of it, information that Moody and Shaklebolt were here to collect.

“How should we do this?” Shaklebolt asked, eyeing the muggle houses on either side of their target.

“Stun first, question later,” Moody grunted.

“He’s not exactly going to simply answer the door if we knock,” Shaklebolt stated.

“No, but I’ve got a couple of tricks up my sleeve,” Moody grinned viciously as he pulled an invisibility cloak from a pocket of his robes. “Wait here, I’ll be back in a moment.”

Then, with a swirl of said cloak, Moody vanished. A short, sharp _crack_ indicated that the retired Master Auror had disapperated.

Shaklebolt kept an eagle eye on the house, but apart from a brief flash of red from one window that might have been his imagination, there was nothing to indicate what was happening inside.

A second _crack_ beside him indicated Moody’s return, a fact confirmed by the removal of the cloak, a removal that revealed not one, but two men. The second was an unconscious Slughorn, bald head and massive walrus-like moustache and all.

“Got him,” Moody stated unnecessarily. “Let’s go.”

And, after another pair of sharp _crack_ s, the neighbourhood was once more left purely muggle.


	19. Chapter 19

As the five filed into Dumbledore’s office, it was easy to see the look of confusion on the old man’s face.

“Good morning, everyone,” Dumbledore greeted after they’d taken seats in front of his desk. “May I ask where the final member of our group is?”

Sirius looked at the Headmaster as though he were an idiot.

“Exactly where he’s supposed to be Dumbledore, in class,” Sirius stated.

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, his hands loosely clasped across his stomach.

“Then it seems that you have wasted your time coming here today, without young Harry here as well, it seems rather pointless to continue,” he said.

“The boy’s fifteen. He’s right where he’s supposed to be. Voldemort may have named him, but this is an adults’ war, not a place for untrained kids,” Moody growled.

“I can easily give him a report on what we learn here if it’s important,” Sirius added.

“I’m afraid that I must insist,” Dumbledore countered. “Harry is a key component of this war; his presence is vital.”

“Vital?” Croaker repeated in a tone that shouted his curiosity. “Why would Mister Potter’s presence here be ‘vital’? What’s so special about the boy?”

“That is a subject best left between myself and Mister Potter at this time,” Dumbledore replied lightly.

“And that’s never going to happen, you and Harry being alone,” Sirius stated vehemently.

“Regardless of what you believe, Sirius, there will come a time when it is imperative that I am allowed to speak to Harry alone,” Dumbledore countered. “There are matters which he, and he alone, must be made aware of.”

“Well, as least we can be sure that whatever this ‘vital’ thing is, it’s got nothing to do with defeating Voldemort,” Moody grunted. “Dumbledore knows the consequences of withholding information that would lead to taking the Dark Tosser down.”

The Unspeakable wasn’t the only one who noticed the slight widening of Dumbledore’s eyes at that, however, he suspected that he was the only one who knew of an avenue to investigate. And if his hunch was correct, the outcome of the war could be more in flux than anyone realised.

“It was my understanding, Alastor, Kingsley, that you had discovered the whereabouts of the elusive Horace Slughorn?” Dumbledore asked, deliberately changing the topic, a ploy that everyone in the room saw through.

“Found him. Retrieved him. Got this,” Moody affirmed, placing a small vial full of a white cloudy substance on the desk for all to see.

“However, did you manage to get Horace to give this memory to you?” an astonished-sounding Dumbledore asked.

“I asked nicely,” Moody replied succinctly.

Amelia opened her mouth but instantly closed it again, deciding that no, no she really didn’t want to know.

“Where is he now?” Algeron asked.

“Stashed him somewhere safe and out of the way for the duration of the war,” Moody replied.

“Well, if this is the correct memory, then it is the most important part of the puzzle that we need,” Dumbledore stated, rising and retrieving his pensieve.

After the memory had been poured in, the six gathered around the large shallow bowl and touched its surface. There they finally witnessed the untampered memory of Horace Slughorn and Tom Riddle discussing, theoretically mind you, the theory of Horcruxes. It was a short memory and within a few minutes, they returned to Dumbledore’s office.

“Seven. Merlin’s beard,” Amelia breathed.

“To even consider doing such a thing to your soul once is unimaginable, but to do so so many times …” Kingsley agreed, trailing off with a shake of his head.

Algeron, unlike the others, remained standing next to the pensive. Touching the runes on the bowl with his wand, he caused the memory to appear above the bowl, a memory that he manipulated until he reached the part that they all remembered all too well.

“ _Would one Horcrux be much use?’_ the young Riddle asked. _“Can you only split your soul once? Wouldn’t it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces? I mean, for instance, isn’t seven the most powerfully magical number?”_

“Seven pieces,” Algeron mused. “Seven pieces. The question we need to answer is: did he mean six horcruxes and the original piece or seven horcruxes plus the original?”

“I would think the former,” Dumbledore replied. “Tom was always an incredibly smart individual and he excelled in arithmancy. Not to mention the fact that I believe that after having split his soul six times, the remaining part would be extremely unstable.”

“With what consequences?” Amelia asked.

“A very good question,” Algeron mused. “We can assume that Riddle would have worked quickly to ensure that he reached his magical number of horcruxes, if only to ensure his immortality. But if his soul became unstable because of it …” His eyes snapped to Dumbledore. “What would happen if the original body was killed?”

Dumbledore’s eyes shifted away and Algeron knew that the man knew.

“Dumbledore?” he pressed.

One look at those gathered in his office was enough to tell Dumbledore that this was one secret that he was going to have to give up. The fact that it was a moot point made the decision marginally easier.

“As unstable a soul as Tom had could cause a small piece to easily break off at the moment of the original body’s destruction,” he said.

“You telling us that there’s _another_ piece out there, floating around somewhere?” Moody growled.

“Wait, Alastor,” Algeron said, holding out one hand. “If Albus is saying what I suspect he is, then it is a piece that we no longer have to worry about.”

“You are, as always, correct, my friend. That piece was destroyed nearly a year and a half ago by Lucius Malfoy, accidentally, I might add,” Dumbledore replied.

Amelia’s mind instantly flashed back to the last time she’d seen the aristocratic man, coincidentally at that exact time. Her memories of that day were incredibly sharp, especially considering what she’d witness happen that day.

“Harry!” she gasped. “Are you telling us that Harry had a piece of Voldemort in him?”

“WHAT!” Sirius yelled.

“Peace, Sirius, it is gone and Harry is alive and well,” Dumbledore said in that infuriatingly calm voice that he had.

 Sirius, though, was anything but in a peaceful mood. Both clenched fists came down hard on the desk and he leaned forward, spittle flying from his mouth as he shouted.

“You knew! Didn’t you? All this time, you knew that a piece of that bastard was in my godson’s head. And you did nothing about it? How? How in the name of Merlin’s saggy pants could you allow that to continue? What was your plan? Raise the boy only for him to be slaughtered later?”

Suddenly, Sirius whirled away, his hands raking through his hair. His eyes connected with Amelia’s.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” he said. “If I don’t, I’ll end up killing him. Tell me what happens.”

With that, Sirius strode away, slamming the door to the office hard enough to rattle the majority of the portraits.

“Is he right, Albus? Did you know?” Moody growled.

“I suspected,” Dumbledore temporised. “And I also knew that there was no way for me to remove Tom’s accidental horcrux without killing the boy.”

“You’re an idiot,” Algeron spat. “We Unspeakables have been studying this foul magic for centuries. There’s a way to get a horcrux out of a living person. I don’t know it personally, but I know it exists. All you had to do was ask.”

Dumbledore looked aghast, the fact that there were others who knew something that he considered impossible had obviously never crossed his mind.

“We can discus what’s been done in the past later. Right now, we need to focus on the task at hand,” Moody said. “Right, seven pieces of the soul; six horcruxes to find and destroy before we can go after the Dark Lord himself.”

“Five, I believe,” Kingsley pointed out. “Albus showed us the diary that Potter destroyed two and half years ago.”

“Still, five objects when we don’t even know where to start looking or even what they are,” Amelia said, shaking her head.

“I would not say that we are as clueless as all that,” Dumbledore said, laying a hand significantly on the box of memories that he’d placed on his desk.

“We don’t have time to go through them all now. Pick the most relevant and show us that one,” Moody demanded.

Dumbledore frowned but complied.

After the vial had been emptied into the pensieve, the five remaining members of the group delved into Dumbledore’s own memory of his first meeting with an eleven-year-old Tom Riddle.

“As you can see,” Dumbledore said, after they’d emerged, “Tom likes to collect trophies. Trophies that reflect something significant to him. These, I believe, will be connected to either an event or a place.”

“What about a person?” Kingsley asked.

“Highly doubtful,” Dumbledore replied. “Even when Tom was here at Hogwarts, he never formed great attachments to people. Yes, there were those who followed him or who he found useful in one form or another, but never friends. I do not believe that that has changed throughout these great many years.”

“You know that your treatment of Riddle in your first meeting with him wouldn’t have helped him at all,” Amelia accused. “Setting fire to his most cherished belongings, even if it was just an illusion, would have scarred the boy.”

“I was hoping that it would scare him away from hurting others, either through physical violence or mentally through stealing from them,” Dumbledore defended himself.

“I’m no Healer, but even I can see that what you intended had the opposite reaction,” Algeron said. “You taught the boy to guard those things that mean something to him most zealously, which could be a problem when we go looking for his horcruxes. You also taught him to fear others, and that those with the most power can use their power to incite fear in those weaker than themselves, a tactic that he has used ever since.”

“Again, we’re getting off topic and I’ve got places to be,” Moody grumbled. “Yeah, Riddle turned out a sick bastard. Was it his upbringing or what Albus did to him or a combination of the two? Who knows? Not important right now. We can debate it all we want _after_ we’ve killed him.”

“Alastor’s right,” Amelia agreed. “Our priority has to be finding those horcruxes. I assume that you’ve got some leads in there?”

She finished with a nod towards Dumbledore’s box of collected memories.

“Some,” he replied. “Perhaps a couple of ideas on what two or three may be. Their whereabouts is another matter.”

“He’ll have them in places that are significant to him,” Algeron stated. “We’ve already agreed on that. Research, that’s what’s needed here. We need to follow his lifeline and find out where those significant places and events happened.”

“I have many ideas,” Dumbledore stated.

‘Won’t hurt to have some more eyes looking at it,” Algeron replied. “And after your bungle with the horcrux in Potter, I’m sure that you’ll agree that the more people researching this, the better.”

Dumbledore managed a chagrined nod.

“Right. That’s what we’ll do. Each of us will use what contacts and methods we have to find out as much about Riddle as possible and report back the next time we meet,” Algeron decided.

“And we can take a look at a few more of those memories as well,” Moody added, “especially the ones that pertain to what some of those horcruxes could be.”

-oOoOo-

Waiting patiently had never been one of his strengths, but still, Lord Voldemort could show considerable restraint when he needed to. The fact that he’d developed a way of lightly meditating to pass the time, helped. He found it amusing to note the nervousness of those around him when he did so, the way that they shuffled about, constantly eying him to see what he’d do next, all while attempting to not make a sound.

Waiting for the right set of circumstances to appear to further a plan was the hardest. Thankfully, in this instance, he knew that the wait had a finite time limit, one that could be measured in minutes.

Behind him, arrayed in the shadows of the pre-dawn, under the nearby trees, stood his Death Eaters. There was anticipation in the air. Wands were being fondled, or in the case of Macnair, his axe. He wished that there were more, but for this, the fifty-one that he’d gathered would have to be enough; he’d planned for that number in any event.

The sharp _crack_ of apparition snapped his head up and his red eyes focussed on the old, stooped figure that had arrived.

As he watched the sailor ready his barge, the taste of anticipation grew palpable in the air. Around him, a dozen wands were raised, ready.

And then the moment that they’d been waiting for arrived in a swirl of colour.

Exactly as he’d been told to expect, five people portkeyed in to the little landing stage beside the barge. They’d barely regained their footing after their wobbly landing when a dozen green curses were loosed, impacting four of the figures and dropping them where they stood.

Instantly, Voldemort whipped his head around, searching for the guilty face. Only the three guards were to be targeted; the prisoners were to be left unharmed. And then he saw it, a slight twitch and Voldemort marked who it was through the charm that he placed on every mask that he handed out: Lucius. He’d punish the man later, right now, he needed every wand at his disposal.

Before the remaining prisoner or the old barge-keeper could react, Voldemort strode out into the open, his Death Eaters a mass of black robes at his back. His very appearance was enough to freeze the two in place.

“Attempt to flee and you and your entire family will feel my wrath,” Voldemort promised. “Remain where you are and you will live.”

The old, stooped shoulders sunk just a little lower and Voldemort knew that the barge-keeper wasn’t going anywhere. As for the prisoner, he was too busy staring at the four bodies around him to even contemplate going anywhere.

Voldemort approached the latter and appraised him. A simple low-level thug who’d attempted to join the big leagues, only to get caught on his very first outing. Could be useful, with a little training, he decided.

“Steven Bartholomew Tame,” Voldemort said, relishing the shiver that ran through the man as he said his name. “Choose: join me and my Death Eaters or die.”

The man’s eyes bugged out and he dropped to his knees, his decision already made before his knees hit the ground.

“You. You. I choose you,” he babbled.

“Excellent. I will deal with you later,” Voldemort promised. “Acton?”

“Yes, my Lord,” the single Death Eater said.

Voldemort watched as he yanked their newest recruit up, ripped off the medallion around the man’s neck before tossing it to one of his companions and portkeying the two of them back to base.

While this had been happening, the four bodies on the ground had also been relieved of their medallions.

“Bring me the rest of the medallions,” Voldemort commanded the barge-keeper.

He watched the old man enter the barge’s cabin, closely followed by a Death Eater, before both appeared a bare minute later, the old man now holding a collection of leather cords, from which a jangling of metal medallions could be heard as he moved.

“A dozen, my Lord,” he was informed.

“You know what to do,” Voldemort instructed.

Instantly, his fifty Death Eaters lined up to board the barge in small groups. Each group was given a medallion, a medallion whose cord was instantly lengthened before being placed around the neck of everyone in the group. The barge-keeper and Voldemort himself were the only ones to have a medallion to themselves.

These medallions were the key to the plan. Each was keyed to the very wards of Azkaban, allowing any wearing one to pass by. The perfect infiltration tool. They could get in undetected and go to work.

“Take us to the island,” Voldemort commanded as he stepped onto the barge, the last to do so.

The barge-keeper had a bit of job untying from the dock, as he had to manoeuvre past a deck that was packed with more bodies that it’d ever held before. But Voldemort had no desire to hasten the man’s progress, after all, it wasn’t as though the man was likely to try anything, not to mention the fact that he was essential to the plan – they needed him to get in and more importantly, to get back out again.

The voyage across the turbulent North Sea was unpleasant with the biting gales of wind and especially with the sprays of water that were kicked up. And while there were a few choice curses when it happened, not one of his men complained – a wise move on their parts.

Voldemort felt the tingle of the wards wash over him as they passed through them and he allowed himself a small smile. Soon, very, very soon, he’d have what he came for.

The instant that the barge pulled alongside the small dock, his Death Eaters swarmed ashore, the medallion now shoved into pockets. Azkaban was a cold, bleak island for the damned – both those who now called it their permanent home and for those who were stationed here for more hours than they ever wanted.

“You know what to do,” Voldemort commanded his Death Eaters.

The fact that they split up into groups and hurried up the path, confirmed it, all, that is, except the three that had been tasked with ensuring that the barge was ready and waiting for them when they returned.

Voldemort, himself, had one of the potentially harder jobs. While his men went on a killing spree, ensuring that any guard they encountered never left here again, while at the same time gathering the faithful and the rest of the prisoners here, he would be speaking to the Dementors; their allegiance was required if he was to achieve his ultimate goals.

Lord Voldemort did not expect to be disappointed.


	20. Chapter 20

The near total silence throughout the dining hall when Harry, Hermione and Neville entered it that morning was enough to make them pause. A quick search of the tables revealed that the vast majority of people were engrossed in the morning paper, even those who didn’t normally get a copy could be seen leaning over their friends’ shoulders so that they, too, could read it.

“Something’s happened,” Harry said grimly, eliciting nods from his companions.

Despite the fact that he and Hermione were already walking with linked hands, the two drew closer, with Hermione even going as far as reaching across and holding Harry’s bicep with her off hand.

They walked like this to the table that had become their customary one to find Hedwig perched on the back of one of the chairs, a paper clenched in one claw.

“Good morning, girl,” Harry said, reaching out to stroke her snowy chest. In reply, she gave a soft _mrrp_ and butted her head against him. As soon as all three were seated, with Harry beside Hedwig’s, Harry untied the paper and shook it out.

All three gasped at the headline of _The Daily Prophet_ and quickly began mimicking those around them.

_Azkaban Razed!  
by Markus Waynesbury_

_In the early hours of yesterday morning, a bold attack was carried out by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his Death Eaters against Wizarding Britain’s lone prison, resulting in the disappearance of every prisoner on the island, the death of all but one of the prison staff and the complete destruction of Azkaban itself._

_Madam Amelia Bones, Head of the Ministry’s Department of Magical Law Enforcement, had this to say:_

_‘He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and a force of fifty Death Eaters managed to bypass Azkaban’s wards by utilizing the very medallions that are issued by the DMLE to gain access to the island. This involved them ambushing a prisoner incarceration, where the guards were killed and the barge hijacked._

_‘Upon their entry to the island, we believe that the Dark force swept through the prison, killing all of the guards stationed there and releasing the prisoners before they turned their wands on the prison itself, reducing it to little more than rubble._

_‘The fact that all of the prison’s dementor guards are also missing leads us to suspect that they have joined the Dark Lord’s forces._

_‘While we at the DMLE are doing everything that we can to catch these wizards and witches and bring them to justice, we urge everyone to take precautions. Upgrade your wards if possible; have escape routes determined; and practice your defensive spellwork, it may just save your life. I also urge everyone capable of doing so to learn the_ Patronus Charm _. This is the only known defence against dementors.’_

The Daily Prophet _was able to track down and interview the only survivor of this vicious attack against our society. Bob Min, 68, of Alnwin, Northumberland, has been the barge operator between the mainland and Azkaban island for twenty-three years._

_‘Yeah, it was Him, You-Know-Who and his lot. Surprised they let me live, actually. Said it was so that I could tell everyone what he’d achieved.’ When asked to clarify this statement, Mister Min, continued. ‘The Dark Lord wanted everyone to know that he now had all of his followers returned to him and that he was quite prepared to loose them onto society if we failed to hand over to him the ones named by him back in May.’_

_This statement refers to the end of the TriWizard Tournament at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry where the former Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge was abducted and used in a ritual to return He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to life. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named declared that he was particularly at war with the following people: Albus Dumbledore; Amelia Bones; Alastor Moody; the Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom; and The-Boy-Who-Lived-Again, Harry Potter._

_Exactly what He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has in mind if his demands are not met is unknown._

_The following pages give pictures and names, with a list of crimes, for the people that have been set free after the destruction of Azkaban prison._

Looking up and around, Harry noted that both he and Neville were the focus of a lot of attention. Unlike at Hogwarts, though, the expressions on the faces around them contained pity more than anything else and a distinct lack of fear or anger or loathing.

“Neville?” Harry asked, dropping what he was about to say at the look of intense fear on his friend’s face. “Are you alright?”

It was as though the dark-haired boy hadn’t even heard him, so focussed was he on the paper on the table in front of him. Almost automatically, Harry glanced down at it and was surprised to find that, instead of the front-page article, Neville was now staring intently at the first page filled with dozens of wizarding photographs.

“Nev?” Harry tried again, this time laying a hand on his shoulder. “What is it?”

“It was them,” Neville whispered.

He shuddered then as a look of intense loathing overtook him.

“Which ones?” Harry asked quietly.

In reply, Neville took up the knife beside his plate in his fisted hand before stabbing it down on three photos, one after the other leaving gaping holes right between their eyes, causing Hermione to jump in her seat, a slight scream of shock escaping her.

The first was a woman. She was yelling and screaming silently, her black hair frayed around her. There was something familiar about her, not that Harry could place it right then. The other two, men and by the look of them, brothers, looked about shiftily before sneering down their noses at everything around them.

Flicking his eyes downwards slightly, Harry noted that all three carried the same last name: LeStrange.

“What’d they do, Neville?” Hermione asked, and Harry could hear in her voice the hesitancy, as though she wasn’t sure whether she actually wanted to hear the answer.

“They attacked my mum and dad,” Neville replied after a long, long pause, his voice barely above a whisper so that the other two had to lean in in order to hear him. “Tortured them with the _cruciatus_ until they broke. They’re still in Saint Mungo’s. They don’t even know who I am.”

“Oh, Neville,” Hermione said before wrapping the boy in a hug.

Harry didn’t know quite what to say to that, so he clamped his hand onto Neville’s shoulder and squeezed, maybe a little too tightly, but Neville didn’t complain.

He couldn’t imagine what Neville must have been going through all of these years – to know that your parents were alive and that you could visit them, but that they’d never know who you were. For the very first time in his life, Harry was glad that his parents were dead.

“You’re not alone, Nev,” Harry eventually said. “We’re all here for you. And you can bet that Amelia and everyone else will do everything that they can to catch them and make sure that they pay.”

“Not if I find them first,” Neville replied, a hardness in his eyes that Harry’d never seen before.

“If you find them, mate, you can be sure that I’ll be standing right by your side, helping you,” Harry promised.

Neville met his eyes, then, and gave a single nod, acknowledging the pact.

-oOoOo-

Harry had barely walked out of entrance to his dormitory when he felt a hand come out of nowhere, grab a fistful of his shirt and yank him down. He let out a squawk of protest as he fell, a yelp that was quickly silenced as a second hand clamped over his mouth. He was in the process of pulling his wand when two bodies shimmered into view in front of him.

“Fred, George?” he asked.

Two quick fingers were placed in front of mouths. Warily, Harry nodded, showing that he understood.

One of the two, George, he thought, produced a pad and pen and quickly scribbled a note.

_Can’t talk. In the middle of a prank._

Harry raised a single eyebrow.

_Exactly what sort of prank involved the two lurking behind a couch, pulling unsuspecting people down to hide with them?_ he wondered.

It was then that he saw Fred open his mouth and begin to talk. The curious thing was that no sound came out of his mouth, instead, Harry heard Fred’s voice emerge from the other side of the room.

“Come on, Ron,” an exasperated Fred said. “Surely you can undo a simple disillusionment!”

Harry risked a cautious peek over the top of the couch. What he saw, didn’t make much sense. Ron had his wand out, trained on the spot where Fred’s voice was coming from. The boy was constantly flicking his wand about and Harry was sure that if Fred was actually there, that he would have lost an eye by now.

“Hurry up, Ron,” Fred said. “I told you, George has got my wand and I can’t do it myself. I don’t particularly want to go down to dinner like this. What if someone accidentally sat on me because they couldn’t see me?”

“I’d have thought that you’d think it was a great prank,” Ron muttered darkly. “And _stop moving about_!”

Now that Ron had mentioned it, Harry realised that he was right; Fred’s voice had moved. Harry looked down at the twins on the ground beside him, both rolling about with silent laughter.

Suddenly, George looked up and gave Harry a wink.

“ _Avis_ ,” George intoned, creating a small swallow.

Then, before it could fly away, he flicked out a hand and gently held it still. His wand circled the bird before gently tapping it on the head, tapping his own throat and once more tapping the bird’s head once again.

“ _Ad hanc mittere vocem_ ,” he said, completing the unknown spell.

The bird was then quickly disillusioned before being directed across the room.

“Oi, Fred!” George’s voice came from the direction that Harry thought the bird had been directed to. “Oh, Ron, you’ll do. Have you seen Fred? Only, he put this disillusionment spell on me and flogged my wand.”

“What?” a confused Ron asked, spinning about and trying in vain to see where this new brother was. “Where are you? I can’t see you.”

“Of course, you can’t see me,” George sighed. “I’m disillusioned, aren’t I?’

“Hurry up, Ron, cast the spell already,” Fred demanded from somewhere to Ron’s right.

“Fred? Is that you?” George asked. “Why can’t I see you?”

“’Cause I’m invisible, you menace,” Fred replied. “You disillusioned me and stole my wand remember?”

“I did not!” George protested. “You disillusioned me and stole my wand!”

As the twins argued, Ron’s head was whipping backwards and forwards, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to work out what was happening.

“You two are having me on, aren’t you?” Ron asked, his eyes narrowed at where he thought his brothers were. “I bet you really did do it to each other and that you’ve got your wands with you.”

“Untrue!” George protested.

“Methinks he’s maligning us,” Fred agreed.

“Look, Ron, just cast the spell so that we can be seen again,” George said.

“No,” Ron said, vehemently shaking his head. “I’m not gonna keep falling for whatever you two’ve done. Sort yourselves out!”

And with that, Ron stuffed his wand in his pocket and stalked away, muttering something too low for Harry to hear.

An insistent nudge to Harry’s side jolted his attention back to the twins on the floor.

_Summon the birds and disillusion them so we can take the spell off,_ the note read.

Flicking his wand out of its holster, Harry did as he’d been instructed.

His sharp ears caught the sound of fluttering wings just before his hands closed around the birds. A quick spell later revealed said birds and the twins’ wands were already in motion undoing their spell.

“Much better,” Fred said with a smile, the sound coming properly from his mouth once again.

“What was that?” Harry asked.

“A spell of our own creation,” George replied.

“We call it the Ventriloquist Spell,” Fred explained.

“You’ve got to teach it to me,” Harry pleaded. “I could have so much fun with that pranking Sirius.

Two identical grins appeared.

“Just for that …” said Fred

“Wanting to prank …” George continued.

“One of the Master Marauders …”

“We will agree …

“To your request …” they finished together.

The two maniacal grins quickly became three.

“I’m all ears,” Harry agreed.

The twins shared another look.

“Funny you should say that, Harry …” George began.

-oOoOo-

“This looks a good spot,” Hermione said.

Harry had to agree with his girlfriend. The small grassy knoll was quite pretty, especially with the oak tree spreading its branches out over part of the area. From here, the buildings of Diricawl were hidden, while the waters of the bay below them were in full view.

Placing the basket to one side, Harry pulled out the thick red and white check blanket and between the two of them, they spread it out and lay it down, sharing identical smiles as they did so. While Harry flopped down on the blanket, Hermione retrieved the basket before joining him.

After receiving a bit of a poke into his side from Hermione, Harry adjusted himself so that he was sitting up, a position that she quickly took advantage of by leaning against him. Automatically, Harry’s hand came up and around her and he placed a kiss on her jaw, just below her ear.

“This is nice,” he sighed, “it’s been far too long since we’ve had a chance to get away by ourselves.”

“Mmm,” Hermione agreed, twisting her neck to capture his lips with her own.

Sometime later, the two decided that they really should see what was in the basket that Neri had prepared for them.

The little house elf had obviously put a lot of thought into it. There were five different cheeses, a collection of fruits and nuts, some meats under a cooling charm and sourdough bread. To complete the picnic, there were a couple of bottles of elvin-made fruit juice.

As the two ate, they talked, their conversation meandering to school and the things they were learning to past events to some hopes and dreams for the future.

“Look, Harry!” Hermine said suddenly, clasping his forearm with one hand as she pointed out to sea with the other.

The instant that Harry’s eyes picked out what she’d seen, the two were scrambling to their feet and moving closer to the edge of the bluff.

In the bay below them were a pod of dolphins, easily a dozen or more slowly swimming past, their backs cresting the swell of the water.

Harry wrapped his arms around Hermione, causing her to hold onto his arms as she leant back into him, as they watched the dolphins below and just simply enjoyed this chance to be together without having to worry about the world at large.

-oOoOo-

“What is your opinion of the Minister’s proposed Decree, Dedalus?” Sirius asked.

The little man, Dedalus Diggle, shifted uncomfortably in his chair and took a rather large drink from his tea before answering.

“The reasoning behind it is sound,” he hedged.

“I don’t think that anyone disagrees with that,” Augusta nodded. “The magical education of Great Britain has been stagnant for decades and is in desperate need of an overhaul.”

“Then you cannot be against the Minister raising a tax to see that there are enough funds to get the job done,” Elphias Doge asserted.

“I don’t think anyone can disagree with the concept,” Augusta agreed. “My concern is with how she intends to raise the gold.”

“It makes a certain amount of sense to tax those with the most to benefit by it,” Tiberius Ogden said.

“Those who will benefit from it,” Sirius echoed, leaning forward in his chair to emphasise the point. “We want to see the _magical education system_ overhauled. How will those who are not even a part of our society benefit from it? What benefit is there in forcing muggles and their children who do not get their education at either Hogwarts or Diricawl to pay a tax? It’s only going to force them to go to the muggle government and complain, jeopardising the secrecy of our very world.”

“You know as well as I do that untrained wizards and witches are a danger not only to themselves but to those around them,” Elphias argued. “It is imperative that they learn how to control their magic and if this tax forces them to enrol in one of our schools, then I say, do it!”

“Surely there are better ways to entice them back,” Augusta said, “ways that will be less likely to risk the Statute of Secrecy. We should be finding out _why_ they don’t want to join the magical society and seeing if there are other areas that we should be fixing in addition to our education.”

“There does seem to be more and more muggleborns leaving to go back into the muggle world each and every year,” Dedalus agreed, nodding his head.

“I don’t think taxing them is going to endear them to us,” Sirius added. “Especially when a large portion of said tax isn’t even going to be staying in the Department of Magical Education, but is going towards funding Hogwarts.”

“Hogwarts is an institution!” Elphias spluttered. “Everything that can be done to enhance her standing in the world must be done.”

“Hogwarts’ enrolment numbers have been falling for decades,” Tiberius said mournfully. “We cannot allow that to continue, not after a thousand years of rich history and the countless generations that have learnt magic under within her walls. With the numbers that it currently has, I do not know how much longer it can even continue to open its doors. Your _Diricawl_ isn’t helping in that regard.”

“Perhaps the question that should be asked, is _why_ so many students, including students in their very last year of magical education, were willing to leave Hogwarts for Diricawl,” Augusta countered. “What is it that Diricawl is doing that Hogwarts isn’t. Answer that and do something about it and you may just find Hogwarts’ enrolment numbers rising once more.”

“Maybe that should be a question that is asked during this overhaul process,” Elphias suggested.

“I don’t think that you’ll find a single person that would argue with that,” Sirius nodded. “But the questions could best be asked by the Department of Magical Education if they retained the gold that they were given to do so. And really, a complete tax on every magical child seems a bit much. Sure, raise some funds to answer those questions, but the tax Umbridge is proposing is going to hurt our children. What happens to those children whose parents can’t afford both the tax and the tuition fees? Will they be forced to drop out of school because of a tax that’s designed to keep them there in the first place?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Tiberius mused. “There are quite a number of families that I know that are just barely able to scrape together the tuition plus book, uniforms and other incidentals already.”

“And it will be compounded in families with more than one child,” Augusta agreed. “Take the Weasleys, for example. They still have four in school; if this was two years ago, it would have been five.”

“Arthur and Molly have always struggled,” Dedalus said, nodding his head. “There’s no way that they will be able to afford this tax.”

“The goal is sound, but if the way that it is being implemented is going to hurt members of our society more than help them, then there is something wrong,” Tiberius stated. “Yes, I think that there is much to think about here.”

“Agreed,” Elphias said as Dedalus nodded. “Overhauling our magical education and returning it to its rightful place as the goal that all other countries of the world strive towards is one thing; doing so at the potential expense of our children, quite another.”

Sirius and Augusta shared a look, being careful to mask their smiles. This little get together seemed to have borne fruit; another three had potentially been brought around to their way of thinking. Slowly but surely, they were gathering the allies that they needed to have before the Decree was to go to a vote in a couple of weeks’ time.


	21. Chapter 21

They’d tried. Really, they had. But even their combined knowledge proved to be not enough. The devious minds of the twins were thwarted and Harry’s added rune and arithmancy knowledge just couldn’t unravel it. So, in the end, they’d caved, bringing them to stand outside the office door in front of them.

A gentle nudge from Fred prompted Harry to knock, a hint that he took.

“Come in,” the Marauder called.

Opening the door, the three trouped inside with George being sure to close the door after them, ensuring that this conversation stayed where others couldn’t hear it.

“Good evening, gentlemen. What is it that I can do for you?” Remus asked, leaning back in his chair as he surveyed the nervous three standing in front of his desk.

“Moony, we need your help,” Harry blurted, eliciting a slight frown, but whether from the use of the Marauder name or due to the request, he wasn’t sure.

“It’s this,” Fred said, pulling out a very familiar piece of parchment.

Moony eagerly leant forward, the corners of his mouth turning upwards at the sight of the Marauder’s Map.

“I know that all three of you know how to work the map,” Moony said, “although I would have thought that there was no use to using it at the moment.”

“That’s the thing, Moony, it’s just a nice piece of nostalgia now, not the useful item that it once was,” Harry replied.

“Which is why we’ve been trying to work out the spells that you used to make it,” George added.

Once again Moony frowned as he connected the dots.

“The only reason that you would have to understand the spells is if you were trying to recreate it,” he mused before his eyes snapped up and pierced each of them in turn. “That’s it, isn’t it? You three want to create a new map. For here.”

Three sheepish nods and grins confirmed his suspicions.

“We figured that the only way that we could understand how the map was made was to come to the Marauder that did it in the first place,” Harry said.

“I wasn’t alone, you know. Your father had quite a bit of input in creating the spells that we used. Even Padfoot added an idea or two,” Moony said.

“Yeah, but we know that you were the brains behind the group,” Fred grinned.

Moony sat back in his chair, his eyes flicking between the three of them and the map laying on the desk. Finally, he nodded once before straightening.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll teach you the spells. On two conditions.”

“Anything, Moony,” an ecstatically grinning Harry quickly agreed.

“Firstly, any map you make is only used for general prankness – no defiantly breaking rules or using it against any student here in a nasty way,” he began.

“We can do that,” Fred nodded.

“Exactly how we would have used it anyway,” George agreed.

“Secondly, you make _two_ maps, not one and I get to keep the second,” Moony said.

The three shared hasty looks between them.

“Agreed,” Harry said.

Moony stared intently at them for a few seconds before relaxing.

“Alright, pull up some chairs and I’ll show you how we did it,” Moony smiled. “I’ve got to warn you, though, it’s not an easy undertaking. Took us the better part of a year to create the original and then we added to it over the next three years to get it to what it is today.”

“We don’t mind,” Fred began.

“We like a challenge,” continued George.

“Especially one like this,” Harry finished.

-oOoOo-

“This session of the Wizengamot, the thirty-fourth of the year nineteen hundred and ninety-five on the eighteenth of Ocotber, is called to session,” the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Gawain Pritchards, intoned as he banged his gavel the required three times.

Once all of the Lords or their representatives had scurried to their seats and taken their places and were watching him, he continued.

“Scribe Hensley, are you prepared?”

“Yes, Sir,” the fresh faced blonde woman just below his raised platform replied in a professional voice as she readied her parchment, ink and quills.

“Very well, let all who have business with this esteemed body step forth,” the Chief Warlock called.

Instantly, the squat woman who’d been sitting in the Minister of Magic’s chair got to her feet, pulling her horrid pick cardigan into place as she did so. Up in the stands, eyes connected with those of their allies; it was well-known what the main item up for discussion and voting was going to be today.

“Hem hem,” Delores Umbridge began in her false, high girly voice. “Chief Warlock, esteemed members of the Wizengamot, I bring before you Educational Decree Number Twenty-Two for your consideration and endorsement.”

“As this Educational Decree has now had the required one month time period since it was proposed, I ask this body to enter into discussion on the Decree,” Chief Warlock Pritchards said.

One of the oldest members of the Wizengamot unsteadily rose to his feet, the creaking of his bones may not have been audible, but all there could easily imagine them doing so.

“The Chair recognises Lord Mackelway,” Pritchards said with a respectful inline of his head.

“Chief Warlock,” the old Lord began in a surprisingly strong voice. “With respect to the Minister, I would like to hear this Educational Decree read out before discussion begins.”

“Madam Minister?” Pritchards asked.

“This Decree is designed so that all students with magical blood, regardless of where they are being educated …” Umbridge began before Lord Mackleway cut her off.

“Yes, yes, we’ve all heard the intent behind the Decree. But not once have I actually heard the exact wording of this Decree. I, for one, refuse to vote on or for any piece of legislation that I have not heard the wording of,” he stated forcefully.

The small block consisting of Lords Black, Greengrass and Abbot and Regents Longbottom and Bones shared looks of barely suppressed glee. Things could not have gotten off to a better start. It helped that Umbridge looked particularly annoyed and flustered.

“Madam Minister?” the Chief Warlock asked. “If you could read out the Educational Decree that you are proposing?”

Umbridge picked up one of the pieces of paper on her desk and hid her face behind it.

“Educational Decree Number Twenty-two,” she read. “All magical students between the ages of eleven and seventeen, regardless of where they are being educated, are required to pay a tax for the maintenance and improvement of magical education within Great Britain.”

“My thanks,” Lord Mackleway said before slowly sinking into his seat.

“I now open this chamber to discussion of the Decree,” Chief Warlock Pritchards announced.

Instantly, Lord Greengrass was on his feet.

“The Decree stated that is encompasses ‘all magical students regardless of where they are being educated’. Does this mean that it includes muggleborn students who have elected not to join our magical society?” he asked.

“Why any child would not want to become a productive member of our society is unimaginable,” Umbridge replied. “And any muggle parent that is denying a magical child their rightful place is bordering on criminality as it is. This law is designed to encourage them to send their child into our world where they can be properly nurtured and encouraged in their magical gifts.”

“Madam Minister,” Madam Bones said as she rose from her seat,” As Head of the DMLE, I have a couple of concerns with this Decree. Firstly, how do you propose to collect this tax from a muggle family?”

“Why we will simply send a Ministry representative to them and request it,” Umbridge replied in her simpering voice as though Madam Bones was being particularly thick.

Amelia nodded her head slowly. “And when they refuse? Or worse still, take the matter up with the muggle government? Because I can assure you that they will. It would be no different than if the muggle government sent representatives to our homes and manors demanding that we pay a tax to them for a service that we do not and have no intention of using. We, too, would complain and do all we could to ensure that we did not have to pay it. What is your plan for dealing with this potential problem and imminent breach of the Statute of Secrecy?”

A low murmur swept through the Chamber at Madam Bones’ question. Each and every member there could see the scenario that she had just outlined playing out and it was not something that they liked, but then, anything that could endanger their entire society was always a cause for alarm.

“There is no need for scare-mongering,” Umbridge near-snapped. “And as for the muggles, we will do what we have always done – compulsion charms and obliviations will be enough to ensure that they comply and maintain the Statute of Secrecy.”

“Minister, if even one such person is missed or if said charms do not take, then your solution will doom us all,” Elphias Doge stated from where he had snapped to his feet. “The Statute must be taken as paramount and not endangered!”

“Hear hear!” was the chorus the rang through the Chamber.

“Putting aside this issue,” Lord Farnsworth said after receiving leave to speak, “after all, the Decree could easily be amended to only include students already receiving a magical education, be it at one of the schools or by private instruction, my question is: what is the exact figure of this tax? There are many families, both old and new, who would struggle to pay an additional tax alongside school fees and day to day living expenses.”

“This is not an exorbitant tax,” Umbridge replied sweetly. “The initial figure that I will be proposing for this body to endorse is simply fifteen galleons for each child. A very small amount when compared to the great work that it will accomplish: bringing the standard of education within magical Britain, both in terms of what is taught and the way that it is taught, to the forefront of the world once again, back where it should be.”

“And how long would this tax remain in place?” Lord Farnsworth asked.

“Why, simply as long as we deem it necessary,” Umbridge replied with a wave of her hand, encompassing everyone there.

“Minister,” Lord Black said, gaining her attention, “I would like to know exactly where this money will be spent. When you first brought this Decree to this chamber for consideration, you mentioned that a large proportion of it would be funnelled through to Hogwarts. Exactly what proportion would this be and why only Hogwarts?”

“The vast majority of the tax collected will be given to the Ministry’s Department of Magical Education,” she replied, but before she could continue, the Head of said Department rose from the visitor’s seats.

“If I may?” he asked.

“This Chamber recognises Tiberius Sheppardton, Head of the Department of Magical Education,” the Chief Warlock stated.

“Thank you, Chief Warlock,” Sheppardton said. “I can give a brief summary of where we would need to spend the gold to fix our magical Education. In short, what my Department needs is more staff. This staff will then be able to obtain copies of OWL and NEWT examinations from around the world, examine them and then update the subjects and equipment needed accordingly. We would also aim to introduce or in some cases reintroduce subjects that are no longer taught at Hogwarts. It is my understanding that many new subjects are slowly being introduced at Dircawl Academy, but with its limited enrolment, it is imperative that Hogwarts offers them as well.

“Another use of said gold would be that, while the Ministry stipend for Hogwarts has remained constant for more than three decades, the number of students contributing to Hogwarts’ upkeep has been declining. For the past decade, Hogwarts has been operating at approximately half of its capacity and now, with Diricawl factored in, that number is declining rapidly. For Hogwarts to be able to compete on a world education market, it must have an infusion of gold for staff, equipment and a host of other things.”

“And how much would you envision all of this costing?” Lord Mackleway asked.

“Upwards of ten thousand galleons, most likely around twelve thousand but definitely no more than fifteen thousand,” Sheppardton replied. “The Ministry has already given my Department five thousand of that.”

“So, we are looking at between five thousand and ten thousand galleons to get the job done?” Lord Mackleway summarised.

“Yes, Lord Mackleway, that’s correct,” Sheppardton replied.

“How much of that fifteen thousand galleons would be used specifically within the walls of Hogwarts?” Lord Greengrass asked.

Sheppardton shrugged at the question. “Hard to say; a lot depends on what we find when we’ve compared our educational system with the rest of the world’s. At a guess, I’d say anything from seven to ten thousand galleons.”

“So, anything from one half to two thirds of the expected amount is to be used solely for one individual magical institution,” Lord Greengrass stated flatly. “A magical institution that would not be in the place it is if the Ministry of Magic had simply increased the amount that it made available to the school over the past couple of decades.”

“The Ministry of Magic has always provided a stipend to Hogwarts, but it has always been Hogwarts’ responsibility that it provide a quality education,” Minister Umbridge interjected. “It is only now that we have come to understand that Hogwarts has allowed that education to slip that we were forced to step in and do something about it.”

“If it is Hogwarts’ responsibility, then I fail to see how taxing every student, and in particular those students that do not attend Hogwarts is right,” Madam Longbottom stated. “If this is a Hogwarts problem, then Hogwarts should simply be raising the cost of their tuition. Ten galleons per Hogwarts student would see Mister Shepparton’s needs for Hogwarts met within two to three years.”

“And what of the remaining money that the Department of Magical Education needs?” Lord Selwyn asked.

“It is a Ministry Department; the Ministry is responsible for funding it,” Madam Longbottom replied. “There is no need for this Educational Decree that focuses on all magical students and even, as it stands now, appears to risk the Statute of Secrecy and the exposure of our entire world.”

“As there does not appear to be any more discussion on this matter,” Chief Warlock Pritchards said after the Chamber had remained silent for a couple of minutes, “we shall vote upon the proposal under consideration.”

A wave of his wand caused two large spheres to rise up in the centre of the chamber.

“For those in favour of passing Educational Decree Number Twenty-Two into law, please cast your votes into the right-hand sphere. For those opposed, please cast your vote into the left-hand sphere,” he instructed.

Over the course of the next two minutes, wands were raised from the sitting members of the Wizengamot and spells were cast to indicate their vote. When the last vote had been cast, the Chief Warlock waved his wand, causing the tallies to be made known.

“By a vote of fifty-three to forty-eight, Educational Decree Number Twenty-Two has been defeated,” Pritchards declared.

The fact that the Minister for Magic’s face had instantly gone a bright shade of red and that there was a vicious scowl on her face that she was doing nothing to hide was duly ignored, except for those who looked forward to laughing and cheering once they were away from prying eyes.

-oOoOo-

The thirteen students shifted in their seats as not only their teacher for this class, Professor Black, but also their Headmistress, entered the room. All sat up that little bit straighter, curious expressions on their faces.

“Morning all,” Professor Black began. “We’ve got a bit of a different lesson today, thus Headmistress McGonagall’s presence. Today, for most of you, we’ll be conducting some tests.”

The thirteen eyed each other nervously – never in over a year of learning this subject, had they ever been subject to testing. But then, learning to become an animagus was a very personal sort of thing; hardly anyone’s journey was identical to anyone else’s, even though the broad steps were very similar.

“Dennis, Mister Pemberton, neither of you two will be involved in this today,” Professor Black continued. “The two of you are free to either continue your meditation studies here or somewhere else, depending on where you feel the most comfortable.”

The two second year boys looked at each other before leaning down simultaneously to pick up their bags and stand up.

“Thanks, Professor Black, Headmistress, we’ll head down to our dorm,” Mickey said before the two left.

“Right,” Professor Black said. “Since you lot started down the path to learning to be an animagus at the beginning of last year, you’ve made some truly remarkable progress. You’ve all been working on learning a great many mind exercises combined with learning occulmancy, as well as working on NEWT-level human transfiguration. Today we’re going to see just how far you’ve come and, if we both feel that you’ve mastered those steps, then, assuming that you’re still interested in becoming an animagus, you can move on to the next step.”

“That’s brewing the animagus revealer potion, isn’t it, Professor?” Hermione asked.

“Correct. It takes four months to brew and will allow you to visit with your inner animal via a trance,” Professor Black replied. “After that, it needs an extra two months of brewing time before you can take it in order to force your body to take the on the shape of your animal for the very first time. After that, it’s three to six months of learning how to transform your body into that shape by yourself and then practicing it until you can do it almost instantaneously.”

There were a lot of nervous looks and smiles between the remaining eleven students. They all realised that they still had a long way to go, but at that same time, it was getting closer.

“Today, I’ll be checking your mind’s order and defences using legilimency and Headmistress McGonagall will be checking your proficiency with human transfiguration,” Professor Black said, rubbing his hands together. “So, who wants to go first?”

The following hour and a half passed by in a flurry of testing. While one person was seated in a chair facing Professor Black, seemingly doing nothing more than staring at each other, another was at the back of the room showing Headmistress McGonagall how well they could transfigure different parts of their body – ears, hair, nose, skin colour, the texture of their skin, give themselves webbing or antlers, change their hands or feet into paws and in some instances, giving themselves a tail.

Finally, when all eleven had been tested, the two teachers compared the pieces of parchment that they’d been marking before facing the group once more.

“Congratulations, all, you’ve all shown us some truly remarkable achievements today,” Professor Black said. “As we suspected, there are a few of you who are ready to move on to the next stage. As for the rest of you, we’d estimate only another three or four months of practice before you too reach that stage. If those of you who aren’t quite there yet stay behind after this, we’ll give you a few pointers of where you need the extra practice.

“Now, on to announcing those who are ready to move on to the complicated step of brewing the animagus revealer potion.”

Eleven pairs of excited, eager eyes stared back at him, their bodies all leaning forwards as they hoped to hear their name.

“Today, that is four of you,” Professor Black continued. “They are: Hermione, Neville, Daphne and Luna.”

A great round of applause broke out for the four, especially for Luna as, being only a fourth year, achieving what she had was amazing.

“If the four of you will meet me in Potion Room Two after lunch, we’ll begin the first steps of brewing the potion,” Professor Black beamed. “The rest of you, I can promise, won’t be far behind them.”

-oOoOo-

Lord Voldemort strolled through the beds that had been set up in the magically expanded basement of Riddle manor. Laying on each bed was one of the recent denizens of Azkaban island, all slowly recovering from the effects of prison life.

The fact that there were one hundred and seventy-one of them was stretching his resources and people to their very limits. All missions and recruitment had had to be put on hold for the time being but it was worth it. Soon, oh so very soon, his ranks would have nearly quadrupled with followers and he could finally, finally put some of his more bold plans into action.

Many of those he passed attempted to get out of bed to thank him for rescuing him. Some even rolled off of the cot and inched their way across the floor to lay at his feet, kissing the hem of his robes as he passed. Normally, Voldemort was not one to smile, but this devotion had forced his mouth into assuming the unusual position.

Finally, he came to the section that held his original Death Eaters and he looked around, examining them.

Antonin Dolohov. Augustus Rookwood. The Lestrange brothers and Rodulphus’ wife Bellatrix. Travers. And there was the one who he’d really come to see. Peter Pettigrew.

Lord Voldemort acknowledged the many murmurings of “Master” and “Thank you” that he was given as he approached the man curled up on the bed. Where once he had been quite solid, almost fat, he was now stick-thin and if one looked carefully enough, one could even still see that he retained the look of a rat, even though he had been unable to transform for years due to the magic-suppression cuffs that he’d been forced to wear constantly while in Azkaban.

“Peter,” Voldemort said.

The man rolled over, his eyes widening as he realised who it was who had spoken to him.

“M…master,” Peter, otherwise known as Wormtail replied. “Th…thank you. Thank you for rescuing me … us.”

“I could not leave any of you there any longer than necessary,” Voldemort said, looking around at his most faithful. “I need the skills and abilities that each of you have if we are to win magical Britain and bring to it proper order. And you, Peter, you shall play the most important role of all. You, the weakest of us all, shall be the instrument that ensures our greatest success.”

Peter nodded eagerly but Voldemort could see the fear in the man’s eyes. Fear was good. Fear could be used. And fear was what Voldemort longed to bring to his enemies. Soon. Oh, so very soon they would taste it and he could hardly wait.


	22. Chapter 22

“This is the place, my Lord,” Lucius said.

Lord Voldemort looked about himself, taking it all in in the light of the near-full moon.

The laneway that he and his group of twelve Death Eaters stood upon was small with hedges hemming it in on both sides. The dirt underfoot was well-compacted with very little loose stuff about to make footing precarious. The small village, he knew, was far enough away that none would hear them and there were no other houses within sight of this place.

“Well done, Lucius,” he acknowledged.

He considered asking the cowed man exactly where the entry to Potter’s land was, but really, there was no need. To an experienced wizard such as himself, the feel of the magic close by was enough to tell him exactly where the wards began.

Raising his wand, he waved it in an intricate pattern, examining what was before him. A frown marred his face as he encountered a type of ward that he’d never met before. It didn’t _feel_ as though it was directed at either him or his magic as one would expect from an anti-Dark Mark ward. No. No, this was something different. Not human or goblin, the usual practitioners of warding. Something else. House elf, maybe? But he’d never explored exactly what the creatures were capable of.

In any event, the wards were there although they did not feel as though they had been maintained for some time, neglected for the past couple of months at least.

“Tear them down,” he ordered.

Instantly, three of his Death Eaters dashed forward before dropping to the ground just before the wards and began working their magic through the use of rune stones designed to attack wards. After nearly half an hour of waiting, Lord Voldemort began to become impatient.

“The rest of you, attack the wards. Overload them if necessary,” he ordered.

Even as they complied, he drew his yew wand and proceeded to pour magic straight at the wards, creating slight ripples in the air whenever they hit.

Finally, after another fifteen minutes, a great crackling was heard stretching up and down the edge of the valley before a thunderclap louder than one would hear in the height of a summer storm, announced that the wards had fallen.

A single wave of his wand as he strode forward confirmed what he already knew: he was free to enter the so-called Potter Haven. By the time that he was finished, there would be no haven given to Potter or any other on this land any longer.

At the top of the valley, he paused, taking in the sight. It truly was impressive. Some way below was a large, three storied manor house with a number of smaller buildings around it, including what looked to be two greenhouses. The majority of the rest of the valley was undeveloped, including the small stream and loch.

Knowing that his Death Eaters would be following, Lord Voldemort strode down the long drive towards the manor.

One of his men, obviously eager to begin the night’s work and to please his master, managed to get ahead. Voldemort stopped in shock as the man ran straight into a _second_ set of wards, this one set just around the manor itself. The fact that the man was held upright, his body shaking and beginning to smoke as lightning-like magic poured into him told them all that these wards were set to lethal levels.

“Someone get him out of there and tear those wards down!” he snapped.

A light-yellow spell impacted the Death Eater from behind before yanking him backwards. The man was clearly dead, his skin scorched and blackened, his clothes still smouldering.

Once again, the three curse breakers set to work. Seeing the man that they’d already lost, Voldemort wasted no time beginning his own attack on the wards, an attack that was quickly followed by the remainder of his men. As he attacked, he analysed the wards: these were clearly goblin-designed and raised wards, these he knew more of how to counter.

It took Lord Voldmort, his curse breakers and his remaining eight men nearly half an hour to counter the wards and to bring them crashing down, an action that brought a small smile to the Dark Lord’s face.

The instant that the wards were down, one of his Death Eaters cast a spell at the mansion.

“It’s empty, my Lord,” he reported.

“As expected,” Lord Voldemort nodded. “You know what to do.”

The remaining men split up, heading each way around the manor, intent on finding every building or greenhouse or thing of interest and destroying it. Not even the gardens would be left. Voldemort had tasked himself with the most important aspect and coincidentally the task that would bring him the most pleasure.

Summoning his magic, he concentrated on one of the more difficult spells he’d mastered.

“ _Fiendfyre!”_ he screamed.

Jets of red-hot fire erupted from his wand to engulf the manor. What fire-suppression charms the building had on it collapsed near instantaneously under the magic-eating flames. As the fire took hold, magical animals – chimeras, basilisks, manticores, hydras, and a host of others – appeared in the flames, giving it a more demonic look.

The fire, Voldemort knew, would continue to burn until there was nothing left. Any hint of magic in the manor or elsewhere in the area would only fuel it further.

Spreading his arms wide, he basked in the magnificence of it. This may not be the school that he most wanted to burn, but until he could find a way around the accursed wards on the island, it would do to serve notice to not only Potter, but every one of his allies. After all, there should only be one wizarding school in Britain – Hogwarts – and only those worthy of learning magic within its walls.

Finally, when his men had returned to him, there was only one spell left to cast before they could apparate out.

Lifting his wand, Lord Voldemort performed the honours himself: “ _Morsmordre_!”

-oOoOo-

“Master Harry Potter Sir! Master Harry Potter Sir!”

The rough shaking combined with the panicked squeaky voice of Dobby was enough to drag Harry out of sleep. Lifting his head, he opened bleary eyes and wiped the drool from his mouth away with the back of his hand.

“What is it, Dobby?” he mumbled.

“Dobby’s wards are gone,” the little house elf squeaked, bouncing slightly from foot to foot.

“Wards? What wards?” Harry asked.

“Dobby’s wards around valley of Potter Haven,” Dobby replied.

That was enough to snap Harry to full wakefulness. There would only be one reason why the wards around Potter Haven would be gone: if they were attacked and torn down. And even though he knew that there were a second set of wards around the manor itself, he held no delusions about how long they would hold up against a concerted attack.

Grabbing his wand off of his nightstand, Harry cast a quick _tempus_ charm. Three thirty-two in the morning.

As much as Harry wanted to rush to the manor to protect it from whatever was happening to it, he knew that it’d be foolish in the extreme to do so. He also knew that, knowing that his home was under attack, that he’d be unable to go back to sleep. Slipping on a pair of pants over his boxers and donning a shirt, he grabbed up his wand, holster and his rowan staff and padded out of the dormitory, Dobby scurrying in his wake, still wringing his hands together.

Together, house elf and boy sat in the chairs near the huge fireplace to silently wait out the remainder of the night, each dreading what they’d find in the morning.

For what seemed the thousandth time since Dobby’d awoken him, Harry cast the _tempus_ charm. Finally, _finally_ , it was at a decent time to wake people up, in this case, Remus and Sirius.

After putting on his boots which Dobby had graciously retrieved for him with a snap of his fingers, Harry left the wing, headed for the apartment of the Deputy Headmaster.

“This better be good,” Remus near growled as he opened his door to his incessant knocking – he always was grouchy the first thing in the morning and the proximity of the full moon wouldn’t help.

“It is, Remus,” a grim-faced Harry replied.

“Harry? What’s wrong?” Remus asked, his demeanour changing instantly into one of concern.

“Dobby told me a few hours ago that the wards that he set around Potter Haven are gone,” Harry stated flatly.

Remus’ eyes went wide as he processed the statement and understood the implications.

“Give me a minute to get changed,” he near-growled, a golden tint appearing in the werewolf’s eyes.

It actually took slightly less time than that before Remus reappeared and, with a silent nod, the two strode through the halls of Diricawl before heading for the Security Office. Once there, the two FLOOed across to Grimmauld Place where Remus dashed upstairs to wake Sirius.

In next to no time, the two men were down, Sirius dressed in a set of dragonhide robes, a grim expression on his face.

“I’ve tried opening a FLOO connection to Potter Haven,” Harry told them as they walked into the room. “It won’t connect.”

The three knew what that meant, though none wanted to voice it.

“Portkey it is, then,” Sirius said, summoning a candlestick to him and tapping it with his wand.

The instant that the portkey let them go, Harry whirled about, his staff held ready to combat anything coming their way or conversely to send a spell at anything that moved. A quick glance was enough to tell that the valley was deserted. Sirius’ _homenum revelio_ confirmed it.

Harry stiffened as he took in the sight of the manor in front of him, or more precisely, what little there was left of it. A few charred pieces of timber and some crumbling bricks were all that now remained of the once immaculate manor, a manor that Harry had come to love, especially after spending a year living there by himself and then another year there with his friends.

In his mind’s eye, he saw the manor again, as it once was, along with all the good times that he’d had there: when he first arrived and saw it; planting the gardens, gardens that no longer existed, having been blasted to smithereens judging by the scorch marks on the ground; he and Dobby working away in the kitchen to make Christmas dinner; sitting in the library as he studied; working with Neville in the greenhouses, greenhouses that had been reduced to rubble; curled up in a chair with Hermione just after they’d first become a couple; and half a hundred other memories.

“I’m sorry, Pup,” Sirius said, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder, having dispelled the eerie green snake and skull motif that was hanging in the sky above the manor when they first arrived.

Remus, meanwhile was casting detection spells.

“Fiendfyre,” he reported grimly. “Whoever did this was powerful.”

“Voldemort,” Harry said grimly. “I’m guessing that because he couldn’t get to us on the island, that he figured this would be the next best thing.”

It was then that Dobby popped in beside them. A single look at the still smouldering ruins in front of them had the little house elf wailing.

“Dobby failed Master Harry Potter Sir! Dobby’s wards not strong enough to protect Master Harry Potter Sir’s manor,” he bawled.

Dropping to his knees, Harry put his arms around one of his best friends.

“No, Dobby,” he said, “there was nothing that you could do. Your wards worked for a long, long time. And no wards are indestructible. At least no one was here and we’d even removed everything of value from the place as well. It was just a shell. We can rebuild it.”

Dobby’s large green tennis ball sized eyes looked up at Harry, tears still leaking from them, although a hint of determination was seen growing in them as well.

“Dobby begin rebuilding today,” he declared.

Harry shook his head. “Not today. Probably not even this year. We’ll wait until after the war’s over, then we’ll do it right and take our time.”

“That’s very smart of you, Harry,” Remus said, a small smile marking his approval.

“Come on, let’s get back,” Harry said, getting to his feet before shaking his head. “I don’t know how we’re going to tell everyone else though. We’re not the only ones who loved the place.”

-oOoOo-

Albus’ blue eyes were twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles at the sight of Harry Potter walking into his office. The fact that he was almost completely surrounded by the others in their group aimed at defeating Tom Riddle was inconsequential.

“Good evening, everyone,” he said, gesturing at the six seats already prepared in front of his desk for them.

One by one they greeted him, either with words or a simple nod before taking the same seats that they had the last time that they were all together.

“Right. Let’s get down to business,” Moody stated. “This war’s heating up and it’s going to be getting a lot worse pretty quickly now that Voldemort’s got his top lieutenants back.”

“Agreed,” Algeron nodded. “The sooner we discover all of Riddle’s horcruxes and deal with them, the better.”

“Dig out that fancy bowl of yours, Albus; we’ve work to do,” Moody commanded, his electric blue eye swivelling in the direction of the cupboard that it was housed in.

“As you wish,” Albus said, giving his wand a simple swish to have the cupboard open and the pensieve float across to land lightly on the table.

He took the small case from his bottom draw and flicked the catch, opening it to reveal the rows of memory vials.

“Shall we start at the beginning, this time?” Albus asked lightly.

Nobody missed the pointedness of the question.

“How long should it take to view all of the memories that you have gathered?” Amelia asked.

“To do them justice, that is, viewing a memory and then discussing what we have seen and identifying the most relevant parts, perhaps half a dozen sessions,” Albus mused.

“No. We don’t have months on end to get the job done,” Moody snarled. “We view as many now as we can and the rest as soon as possible. We can always come back and watch something again. We need to be out there fighting and achieving something; not stuck in here for forever and a day.”

“I agree with Mad-Eye,” Sirius said. “Let’s get through them as quickly as we can and start finding these things.”

With pursed lips, Albus plucked the first vial from its resting place and deposited it into the pensieve. As soon as it was in, the seven gathered around the shallow bowl and reached out to touch the liquid, allowing it to draw them into the memory.

They’d arrived in the middle of a narrow laneway. Hedges lined each side and the road curved around and down the side of a small hill.

“Welcome to Little Hangleton, or at least, the outskirts of it,” Albus said.

Amelia started at the name. “Little Hangleton? That’s where Fudge was taken after the Tri-Wizard Tournament; we were able to track the portkey to a cemetery there.”

“Indeed,” Albus said, sounding not the least bit surprised.

“What’s so important about this place?” Algeron asked.

“This is where Tom’s family came from, not that he was aware of it until his mid-teens,” Albus replied, then, as a man appeared just in front of them, he continued. “Ah, and here is Bob Ogden; Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

“Bob Ogden?” Moody asked. “He was Head even before my time. Retired back in thirty-two if I remember correctly.”

“You do,” Albus assured him. “At this point in time, he is in the process of following up on a piece of muggle-baiting that occurred in the area. Shall we?”

The group followed the memory of Bob Ogden down the laneway before he turned off into a narrow dirt track that could have been easily overlooked through the gap in the woods.

All except Dumbledore started when a young man dropped out of the trees in front of Bob and confusion seemed the order of the day on everyone’s faces except Harry’s.

“He’s speaking parseltongue, isn’t he?” Harry asked.

“He is indeed,” Albus smiled.

Snakes seemed to be the order of the day as the man continued hissing at the group. There was even a dead snake nailed to the door of the hovel that they were led to by the boy’s father, who also seemed to have the ability to speak to snakes. Exactly how the building was still standing could only be attributed to magic – there was no way that a normal building in such shape wouldn’t have fallen in on itself.

There was a third member of the family, a girl, working in the kitchen inside.

“M’daughter, Merope,” the man introduced her as.

Suddenly, Harry started. “What was his name again? Marvolo Gaunt?”

“It is,” Albus confirmed.

“I know who these people are! That’s Tom’s grandfather,” Harry said, pointing to the father, before switching to point to the daughter. “And that’s his mother. The Gaunts are the descendants of Cadmus Peverell, the second of the Peverell brothers.”

He moved about them, twisting his head this way and that until he could see the ring that the man wore on his hand.

“Ha! I was right,” Harry crowed. “See – the Peverell family ring. It’s just like mine, only that’s the real one and mine is a copy because the real one disappeared.”

To emphasise his point, Harry lifted his hand and showed the group his Peverell ring.

“How do you know this, Harry?” Albus questioned.

“Because I’ve seen the Peverell family tapestry,” Harry replied. “The Potters are descended from the _third_ brother, Ignotius.”

“Wait. If you’re descended from the third brother and Riddle’s descended from the second brother, how are you the Head of Family?” Algeron asked.

“Easy,” Harry grinned. “The tapestry states that Tom Marvolo Riddle died on October thirty-one nineteen eighty-one.”

“ _Magic_ declared him dead?” Algeron asked.

“Yep,” Harry nodded, “or at least dead enough for the family magic to pass on to me.”

Memory Marvolo, it seemed, was helping to emphasise Harry’s point by holding up his ring and showing it to Bob Ogden, declaring that he was descended from the Peverell family.

“What I don’t get is why they’re living here, like this,” Harry said. “The Peverells have both land and gold in Gringotts.”

“Most likely never went to the goblins to claim it,” Amelia said.

Anything else that she was going to say was interrupted by Sirius shouting and pointing to the locket that Marvolo was currently yanking on to show Bob Ogden. The fact that the chain of the locket was still around his daughter’s neck seemed quite incidental.

“I’ve seen that before!” Sirius exclaimed. “It was at Grimmauld Place.”

“You have?” Dumbledore asked eagerly. “Is it still there? I have two other memories pertaining to the locket which lead me to suspect that it is one of the items that we’re looking for.”

“Well, if it is, then I’ve already done some of our work for us,” Sirius replied. “It was part of some of the stuff that I destroyed three years ago, when I was renovating Grimmauld Place.”

“But are you sure that it was destroyed?” Dumbledore insisted. “Being a horcrux, it would be incredibly resistant to the normal ways of destroying something.”

“I put it in an incinerator powered by fiendfyre. Trust me. It’s destroyed,” Sirius stated flatly.

“I’ll want to see that memory, Black, to compare this locket with the one that you remember,” Moody stated.

“Sounds like a very good idea,” Amelia agreed.

The instant that the seven returned to Dumbledore’s office, Bob Ogden’s memory was scooped up and replaced with a short memory of Sirius’. It only took a single viewing for all seven to agree that it was indeed the same locket.

“Although how in Merlin’s name it ended up in Grimmauld Place is beyond me,” Sirius said, scratching his head.

“Doesn’t matter,” Moody stated. “All that matters is that that’s three confirmed pieces of Riddle out of eight destroyed: the locket, the diary and the bit that was in Potter there.”

“Was the purpose of that memory that you showed us the locket?” Kingsley asked.

“Only in part,” Albus replied. “Harry pointed out the other part. The Peverell ring that Morvolo was wearing was one that Tom wore through his sixth and seventh years here at Hogwarts. It was possible to see that he was wearing it in Horace’s memory.”

“So, that’s a fourth, with the last piece being Riddle himself,” Moody grunted. “Only three others to go. What else have you got?”

“One of the other memories of the locket contains a second item which I feel that Tom would have coveted for use as a horcrux,” Dumbledore replied. “The fact that that item went missing at the exact same time that a young Tom Riddle disappeared from the wizarding world right after he’d first laid eyes on it, supports my theory.”

“Let’s see it, then,” Moody commanded.

A second memory was retrieved and held poised over the pensieve. Dumbledore looked up at them all over his half-moon spectacles before allowing it to pour in.

“You understand that we are once again straying from the proper order of viewing these memories?” he asked.

“Yes. Now pour the thing in,” Algeron stated.

With a sigh, Albus complied before the seven plunged into a memory once more.

This one consisted of a Tom Riddle either in his late teens or early twenties visiting an ancient lady in her home. Hepzibah Smith, for that was the old lady’s name, was having fun showing off her trinkets, including the locket once reportedly owned by Salazar Slytherin that Sirius had already destroyed. It was the second item, though, that the seven were the most interested in.

“Helga Hufflepuff’s Cup!” Amelia breathed after they’d returned to Dumbledore’s office.

“Indeed!” Albus remarked.

“Something of Slytherin’s and now something of Hufflepuff’s,” Algeron remarked. “I’m wondering if we’re starting to see a pattern.”

“Something that I have often wondered myself,” Albus remarked. “Alas, I have no idea what he may have used as the last two horcruxes. Every known item of Gryffindor’s can be accounted for and is free of taint. And as for Ravenclaw, I am at a loss to know what of hers has survived to this day.”

“A project for us to look into,” Algeron nodded. “I’ll scour the records of the Unspeakables, see if there’s anything in there.”

“Unfortunately, it’s getting late and I’ve got to be getting Harry back to school,” Sirius stated. “Tomorrow may be a Saturday, but he’s got homework to do.”

“Very well,” Albus said. “I feel that we have covered some good ground tonight. Perhaps next time we can return to viewing the memories in order; that way we may pick up on something that might otherwise be lost.”

Nods were delivered all around before farewells were given and the group left, either through the FLOO or through the door headed for the edge of Hogwarts’ wards and to portkey away.


	23. Chapter 23

The first snows of the season caused an upsurge of urgency in certain members of Diricawl Academy. Only the fact that the snow was little more than a light dusting on the ground and the tops of the trees prevented any panic from settling in.

Nearly every afternoon after classes and then again for most of the days on the weekend, the Diricawl quidditch pitch became the place to be. Pick-up games were organised on the spur of the moment and even impromptu quidditch position practices appeared.

For Mike, the school’s sports teacher, it was almost a nightmare. Being a non-magical meant that he couldn’t get on a broom and fly it, due to the simple fact that, while brooms themselves were imbued with magic, it took the rider’s magic to steer it. And being up in the air amongst the fourteen or so kids was the ideal place to be to ensure that everything was fair and that there were likely to be less injuries.

Thankfully, though, he was blessed with some responsible prefects. The three girls – Angelina, Alicia and Katie – worked well together organising everyone and making sure that the teams were as fair as possible. Lee Jordan had taken the top of one of the stands as his own, a place where he sat commentating on the games and throwing out the odd remark or two to help those in the air stay safe. Even the twins seemed to be taking extra care where they were hitting the iron cannonballs called bludgers and moderating how hard or how close they were sending them towards the younger students.

Mike had been given a crash course in the rules of quidditch by Harry, Minerva and Sirius but it really took until he was able to watch the kids playing that he finally understood it. Well, mostly understood. He still thought that one hundred and fifty points for catching a single ball seemed a bit lop-sided, especially when ninety-nine times out of a hundred it would also mean winning the game, regardless of everything else that had been happening in it.

But all of this relentless play and practice had been for a good cause. Headmistress McGonagall, being the rabid quidditch fan that she was, had promised quidditch. And knowing that with a school the size of Diricawl that a league or tournament was out of the question, she’d promised something special, something that she’d hinted that they’d need to find and field their very best school wide team for.

“May I have your attention, please,” Headmistress McGonagall said to the teens gathered for dinner one Saturday night late in November.

Heads swivelled around and in some cases, whole chairs were turned about until everyone was facing her. The fact that there were quite a few sweaty and grass-stained teens told her that most of them had come straight from the quidditch pitch to dinner once again.

“It has been exceedingly pleasing seeing so many of you flying together and practicing your quidditch moves over the past months. I can honestly say that we have seen a great deal of improvement. Now, though, is the time to share with you what you have all been working towards,” she said, creating an excited low buzz amongst the tables.

“Next Saturday, Diricawl Academy will be hosting an exhibition quidditch match between an All Stars Diricawl Team and Puddlemere United,” Headmistress McGonagall announced with a huge smile on her face.

Cheers greeted her announcement, along with an enthusiastic round of applause.

At her gesture, Mike rose from his seat and joined her, a large box appearing on the table courtesy of the elves.

“Your All Stars Diricawl Quidditch Team consists of …” Headmistress McGonagall began, drawing it out and nearly seeming to suck the students in with the way they were all leaning forward in anticipation.

“Chasers Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell.”

As each girl’s name was announced, a huge round of applause was given. Each girl rose, a massive smile nearly spitting their faces, and walked towards the front where Mike was waiting to give them their new uniforms. The uniforms were a deep forest green and white with gold highlights. The players’ name and number was emblazoned on the back of their uniform as well as on the left side of their chest.

“For Beaters, we have Fred and George Weasley.”

The twins rose and bowed to all and sundry before joining their teammates at the front.

“Keeper. This was probably one of the hardest choices – there were simply a few that could have been picked,” Headmistress McGonagall stated. “In the end, the position has gone to Tracey Davis.”

A shocked Tracey stumbled to her feet after a push from Daphne and Fiona. By the time she reached the front of the room, a massive grin had appeared on her face and she nearly hugged the uniform given to her.

“Seeker: Harry Potter.”

Once Harry had joined the other six, Professor McGonagall raised a hand to quieten the room.

“There will also be three reserves in case of injury or the unexpected illness,” she said. “Our reserves are: Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley and Donnelly MacTavish.”

The third-year boy bounced from his seat and nearly ran to the front, easily getting there much faster than the other two who had actually been seated closer to begin with. Donnelly had been a surprise to everyone who’d watched him. He seemed to be a natural in the air and had amazing spatial awareness, which, when combined with a beater’s bat, was truly something to behold.

“Congratulations to you all,” Professor McGonagall said, leading the applause. “The exhibition game next Saturday will begin at ten in the morning. I believe that the Puddlemere team will be here not long after breakfast. There will be time for all of you to meet the team after the match as they’ll be staying for lunch and then to run some practice sessions for those interested.”

This announcement was met with almost as much excitement as the prospect of the match itself and Mike knew that he’d likely have all forty-six students on the pitch for the rest of the week.

-oOoOo-

“Welcome one and all, witches, wizards, friends and guests to Diricawl Academy’s first ever quidditch match,” Lee Jordan’s voice rang out over the pitch and packed stands.

The island had never been this full. Not only were nearly every parent of the students in attendance, but a large swathe of the public, including a small contingent of reporters. Extra seating had had to be built when it became apparent just how much interest that there was in the match.

“Today’s match pits the All Star Diricawl Team against Puddlemere United’s best,” Lee continued, his pre-match spiel warming up the already excited crowd. “And here come the teams now. First out, we have Puddlemere wearing their traditional brown and gold robes, although rumour has it that they will be changing colours in the very near future.

“First out is Captain and Chaser Dom Romley, followed by her fellow Chasers, Alex Price and Damien Stevens. Following them is Seeker Benji Williams, Beaters Brad Coxwright and Jemma Simons and lastly Keeper Oliver Wood.

“And here comes the Diricawl Team: Captain and Chaser Angelina Johnson along with fellow Chasers Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet. Playing at Beater is the dynamic duo of Fred and George Weasley. Keeper is Tracey Davis and Seeker is Harry Potter.”

While Lee continued with introducing the Reserves for both teams, the fourteen first-string players took to the air and lapped the pitch, eliciting a wave of cheers from the crowd. Noticing the Referee striding across the pitch, her broom in hand and the box of balls floating behind her, the two teams sunk to the ground, taking up positions around her.

“Our guest referee today is none other than Hogwarts’ Flying Instructor and Quidditch Manager, Ronalda Hooch,” Lee announced.

“And the teams are taking to the air in preparation for the toss of the quaffle,” Lee announced. “The bludgers have been released. As has the golden snitch. Madam Hooch takes the quaffle in her hands and … the quaffle is up! Game on, ladies and gentlemen.

“And the quaffle is taken by Romley, passed to Price, ooh and near miss by a bludger there. The distraction is enough for the quaffle to be snatched by Spinnet, who passes to Bell and back to Johnson. This will be an interesting match-up today, ladies and gentlemen. Before leaving Hogwarts and joining Puddlemere, Oliver Wood was the Captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team where he led most of the Diricawl team, designing many of the plays for the Chasers himself. He knows what the three ladies can do.

“GOAL! Goal to Bell. It seems knowing the Diricawl Chasers works both ways, with the Chasers also knowing how Keeper Wood moves.

“The quaffle is passed off to Stevens and then to Price who streaks down the pitch, leaving a bludger in his wake. He takes aim, but it’s a feint! The quaffle is dropped straight down to Romley who catches and releases … Goal! And the score is ten-ten.

“Wait! What’s this? Williams has gone into a spectacular dive. Has he seen the snitch already? Potter is flying after him, pushing his broom to its limits. They’re getting closer and closer to the ground. No! It’s a feint! Williams pulls out in a perfect Wronski Feint and Potter is yanking hard on his handle. He’s going to crash! No. That was close. Potter only just managed to pull up at the last second. The furrows from his boots can be seen in the snow.

“Puddlemere with the quaffle. Price lines up a shot and fires hard at the right-hand ring. But Davis is up to the challenge, gathering the ball in with ease. She passes off to Johnson and its Johnson to Spinnet to Johnson to Bell to Spinnet to Bell. Boy these three can really move the quaffle, folks. Back to Spinnet who shoots and scores! Thirty-twenty Diricawl.

Lee hadn’t announced a game like this one ever from what he could remember and he was having the time of his life. Quaffles were flying about and bludgers were being hit with a ferocity that was sure to break a bat, that is, if they hadn’t been charmed with so many unbreakable spells to make it a near impossibility. And the Seekers were zipping about the pitch, bumping into each other and interrupting the plays of the Chasers, almost as if they were an additional couple of bludgers themselves.

But as hard as the Diricawl Team was playing, they really were no match against the professional team. For every shot that Tracey was able to block, two others found their target. Wood, too, seemed to find his rhythm against the Diricawl Chasers, blocking more and more of their shots as the game progressed.

“And Potter has shot straight up in the air,” Lee announced, his throat nearly parched, but he daren’t stop for a drink, it was simply too exciting of a match. “I don’t know where he’s going, but he’s quickly leaving the play far behind. And now Williams is flying straight after him. Potter’s jinked left; looked like he just took a swipe at something, I’m guessing the snitch.

“He’s stalled it! Potter’s stalled his broom! No. No, he’s just done a complete one eighty and now he’s flying for all he’s worth straight down. Williams continues to climb. Looks like they’re on a collision course. Potter barrel rolls right, Williams left. Phew! The managed to miss each other.

“Potter’s arm is up! He’s got the snitch! Potter catches the snitch for Diricawl! There’s the whistle and the game ends. Puddlemere United win the match two hundred and seventy to two hundred and forty. Potter gets the snitch, but Puddlemere win! What an amazing match!”

-oOoOo-

 “Your players have a lot of potential,” Arnold Thornton, the Puddlemere coach said, as he shook Minerva’s hand. “Any other keeper out there and those three would be running rings around them. It was just your bad luck that Wood knew their plays and how to counter them.”

“Which is exactly why you played him,” Minerva smiled.

“Well, we couldn’t have a bunch of school kids beating us, now could we,” Arnold grinned back.

“I guess not,” Minerva grimaced.

“Mark my words, there’ll be contracts offered to a few of them. Potter especially will be sought after. The way he flew,” Arnold shook his head. “With a little training, he could be one of the best.”

“You should have seen him in his very first flying lesson,” Ronalda Hooch said, joining the conversation. “As natural a flyer as I’ve ever seen; took to it like a niffler to gold.”

“Thank you for refereeing for us today,” Minerva said.

“It was my pleasure,” Ronalda replied. “Only getting to referee half a dozen matches a year is not enough, I’ll take the chance for more whenever I can get it. Perhaps you could bring your team to Hogwarts and mix it up with the four teams there? A bit of extra competition wouldn’t go astray.”

“That’s something that I’ll take to the Board, but it won’t be this year,” Minerva said.

The three looked out across the pitch where the ten Puddlemere players were surrounded by students and adults alike, all mixing together in enjoyment of the game.

“Any time you’d like us to come back, ask and we’ll make it happen,” Arnold promised. “I can sell it to my managers as great publicity, both for the game and the team itself.”

“Thank you, Arnold, we’d all like that,” Minerva smiled.

-oOoOo-

Remus and Minerva stood together at the front of the Dining Hall. This was the final dinner before the Christmas break and many of their students would be heading home for the holidays.

“If we could have your attention, please,” the Deputy Headmaster asked, causing the conversations to peter off and the clattering of cutlery to cease.

“Thank you,” Minerva smiled. “This has been an excellent term and every one of your teachers are incredibly proud of each and every one of you. You have all settled into our new school well and have worked well in your classes. The few teething problems that we’ve had have been very minor and were all sorted out quickly.”

“And we have our prefects to thank for that,” Remus said, taking over. “Angelina, Alicia, Katie, Lee, Fred and George. If you all would stand?”

The six stood in their places, for the most part around the one table. Only Katie was at a different table, mixing with a number of the younger girls before they were due to go home the next morning.

“The six of you have been a credit to your positions,” Minerva said before leading the Hall in a round of applause. “Now, if you’ll remember, you were promised something on the very first day of term.”

Alicia and Angelina gasped and grabbed at each other’s hands, their eyes bright with excitement.

“I see that two of you have worked it out already,” Minerva smiled. “For the rest of you, I promised that at this time, we would appoint Diricawl’s first Head Boy and Head Girl.”

Now it was the three boys’ turn to look at each other excitedly.

“The decision wasn’t easy,” Remus said. “The fact that Katie is only a sixth year and won’t be eligible until next year only made it slightly less difficult. Every teacher was consulted and we looked not only at your academic progress, but also how well you carried out your Prefect duties and interacted with others in the school. Each and every one of you have exceeded our expectations and we couldn’t be prouder.”

“I think that it best if we not delay the announcement any longer,” the Headmistress stated, looking pointedly at the two seventh year girls bouncing slightly where they stood while they clutched at each other. “The position of Head Girl is awarded to … Angelina Johnson.”

An excited squeal echoed around the room before Angelina slapped a hand across her mouth. Alicia laughed at her best friend before giving her a tight hug and pushing her forward. Applause rang through the room as she walked forth to have her new badge pinned to her shirt by the Headmistress.

Once Angelina was settled beside her, albeit with her twisting her head to get a good look at her new badge, Minerva faced the three seventh year boys.

“Gentlemen. After much deliberation, a decision was reached. The position of Head Boy is awarded to … Lee Jordan.”

A second wave of applause, this time accompanied by whistles from the twins and stamping of feet by the boys in Lee’s dormitory, swept the Hall.

Lee almost appeared embarrassed as he walked through the tables to receive his badge, pinned to his shirt by the Deputy Headmaster. When he turned around, it was with a lopsided grin on his face and to sweep his dreadlocks out of his eyes as he waved to everyone in the room.

“We are confident that the two of you will do us proud,” Headmistress McGonagall stated, eliciting another round of applause from the room.

When the applause finally died down, the new Head Boy and Head Girl of Diricawl Academy made their way back to their seats where they were instantly congratulated by their friends.

“We’re glad that …” George said, slapping his mate on the back.

“It’s you, Lee,” Fred said.

“Could you image how much …”

“It would cramp our pranking ability …”

“If they’d given it to one of us?” they finished together, eliciting laughter from not only those at their own table, but also those at the tables nearest to them.

“Yes, but as Head Boy, I’ll have to make sure to keep the two of you in line,” Lee said pompously.

Unfortunately, he could only hold the pose for a few seconds before cracking up with laughter. After all, the number of pranks that he’d helped the twins out with over the years was far too many to count.

“Enjoy the rest of your meal,” Headmistress McGonagall said after gathering attention back to herself once more. “And for those of you heading home for the holidays tomorrow, have a safe and pleasant time and a very merry Christmas to you.”

“Merry Christmas!” the students and staff repeated, lifting their glasses in toast.


	24. Chapter 24

The instant that Harry stepped through the arch leading to Diagon Alley, he could see the difference. Where once the major hub of magical society teemed with people all casually shopping and socialising, the Alley was now near deserted. What few people there were there were all huddled together, rushing from one store to another, nervous glances being sent all about them and suspicious looks being shot at their fellow shoppers.

Shaking his head at the state of the Alley due to the war, Harry strode purposely towards Gringotts, his staff tapping on the cobblestones with every other step.

Really, it wasn’t all that surprising how people were acting. While Death Eater attacks had petered off over the past couple of months – ever since the Azkaban breakout – they were still happening too often to ignore. Most attacks were random, hit and run affairs, confined to the muggleborns and squibs living on the edge of wizarding society.

Sirius and Amelia’s best guess was that they were laying low until the ‘big hitters’ had recovered from their stay in the wizarding prison and then the war would really heat up, a sentiment that Harry couldn’t help agreeing with.

The traditional two guards at the doors of the great bank had been doubled, Harry saw as he climbed the stairs; obviously, the goblins were reading the signs as well and had begun to take steps to secure their territory.

“I have an appointment with my Account Manager,” Harry told the duty goblin.

The goblin with the longest, pointiest nose that Harry had ever seen, eyed him for a moment before consulting his ledger.

“You are on time, I see. Good. Griphook will escort you,” the goblin stated.

Harry inclined his head before turning and following the familiar goblin through to the back offices of the bank. At the correct door, Harry thanked Griphook before knocking.

“Come,” he heard Slipshard call.

Harry pushed the door open and nodded to the goblin before closing the door and making his way across the room. At Slipshard’s gesture, he sat in front of the desk, laying his rowan staff across his lap as he did so.

“What can I do for you today, Lord Potter?” Slipshard asked.

Harry made a face at him. “You know that I prefer that you call me ‘Harry’, Slipshard.”

The brief flash of sharp, pointed teeth, told Harry that the wily, old goblin was simply having a bit of fun with him.

“But it’s about the ‘Lord’ stuff that I wanted to talk to you about,” he continued.

Slipshard straightened slightly. “Indeed?”

Harry nodded before elaborating. “Specifically, the Head of Clan Lomas.”

“It is a minor title and account,” Slipshard noted. “What about it?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about my family and I realised that I shouldn’t be the Head,” Harry said. “The Evans’ are descended from the Lomas’ and my grandfather was the younger of two brothers. So, shouldn’t the Head of Clan be my cousin Mark?”

Slipshard sat back, his fingers steepled in front of him.

“Usually, you would be correct,” Slipshard told him. “However, the rules change when a line has been dormant for some generations. Instead of the progression passing naturally through the bloodline, magic comes into play. A Line is reactivated by the first person with _magical_ blood, regardless of their place on the family tree.”

“My mother,” Harry breathed.

“Indeed. The Lady Lily, if she had taken up the Head of Clan duties, she would have held that title,” Slipshard nodded. “And regardless, you are older than your cousin, meaning that even without your mother, the title is yours.”

“But now that the there’s Mark and even Melody, a witch and a wizard, shouldn’t the title pass to one of them?” Harry asked.

“No. The Head of Clan will remain with your bloodline as yours is the one that reactivated it; the other line will become secondary,” Slipshard answered.

Harry sat back in thought for a few moments before leaning forward once again.

“Is it possible to give it back to them?” Harry asked before rushing on with his reasoning. “I’m already Head of both the Potters and the Peverells, I don’t need a _third_ title.”

Slipshard nodded slowly.

“It is possible,” he said, “but I would caution you against doing so at this time. You are the only magical adult in your family and passing the title on will mean that it will go to a minor, thus making the account attached to it dormant once again. There is much potential profit to be made by having the account active. My advice to you would be to retain the Head of Clan title until your cousin comes of age and then, if you are still inclined to, pass the title along at that point.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Harry agreed. “Alright, I’ll do it that way, but as soon as Mark turns seventeen, I’m passing it to him, back where it should be.”

“Excellent,” Slipshard said. “Now, as you are here, perhaps we can go over some of the preliminary building plans for your land across from Ynys Crochenydd.”

Harry quickly agreed and shuffled to the very edge of his seat so that he could see the large sheets of parchment that Slipshard was unrolling.

-oOoOo-

“This isn’t going to be as easy as we first thought, Brother,” Fred commented as the two poured over the no-longer blank piece of parchment laid out on the bed in front of them.

“Especially considering that we have to make two of them,” George agreed, tapping the rolled-up parchment to the side.

“Well, we’ve got most of the classrooms done already,” Fred stated.

“So, the dormitories next,” George finished.

With a synchronised nod, the two stood, George picking up the second, rolled parchment as Fred grabbed the one that they were just looking at.

They, along with Harry, were in the process of creating a map of the school, just like the map that Harry’s father, Sirius and Professor Lupin had made of Hogwarts when they’d been students. What it took to actually make one consisted of a lot of time and effort. In order for a room to be added to the map, it required two sets of complicated spells, one tying the parchment to the wards and the second tying the boundaries of the room to the map.

A third spell that when said lasted close to seven minutes to tell the wards to project the position of an individual onto the map couldn’t be cast until the other two had been completed successfully.

And it all had to be done for each successive room.

Professor Lupin hadn’t even bothered telling them how to go about getting the wards to show people outside the boundaries of a room, for example, on the school grounds yet. _That_ , could apparently wait until all of the regular rooms had been done first. As could the naming and insulting part of the enchanting as well, apparently.

“Let’s start up there,” George said, motioning to the mezzanine level above the common room where they’d been sitting tucked away in the corner – thankfully, their reputation from Hogwarts had followed them here; people knew to leave them alone when they were obviously ‘plotting’ something.

“Right you are, Brother,” Fred agreed.

As they climbed the circular stairs, George tapped his twin between the shoulder blades.

“You know it might actually be a good thing that DA has so few students,” he said.

Fred paused, glancing back, before he realised why George had made such a statement. With so few students at Diricawl, it meant that only five of the dormitories were currently being used, leaving the other seven unoccupied.

“We’re still going to have trouble with the girls’ dorms,” Fred stated.

“I’m thinking that we may have to delegate,” George said.

“Will they go for it?” Fred asked.

“’Cause they will, especially if it’s us asking,” George replied, puffing out his chest.

“And they’d have no reason to protest if we add that we’re making a map for Professor Lupin as well,” Fred added.

“Too true,” George agreed as they entered the corridor of the first dorm.

The two bent down, unrolled their parchment, lifted their wands and began to chant.

-oOoOo-

Ynys Crochenydd was much fuller than anyone had first expected that it would be, especially for the first Christmas for the island that was once more populated with people. It’d been fifteen years since the last time the island celebrated Christmas, that time with the remnants of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter in their manor, celebrating the arrival of the newest member of the family.

But now, with the coming of Diricawl Academy in the place of the destroyed manor, the island was filled with life once more. A large majority of the school’s students had elected to stay for Christmas and in most cases, they were even encouraged to do so – it simply wasn’t safe out in the wider world for muggleborns or half-bloods with all of the attacks that the Death Eaters were making.

And to make it special for the students, the Headmistress and staff had welcomed the parents and siblings of their students to the school for Christmas Day, after all, Christmas _was_ about family.

Harry woke early on Christmas morning and, after the necessary morning rituals, gathered the small pile of gifts from the bottom drawer of his dresser and padded out into the common room. After assuring himself that he was alone, he plonked himself down on the couch, dumping the presents beside him.

“Dobby. Jaxom. Neri. Wissom. Lexi. Doni,” he called.

Instantly, there were six _pops_ as the Potter and Peverell house elves answered their master’s call. Lexi and Doni, Harry noted, took a careful look around at the unfamiliar surroundings before huddling closer to the taller, older house elf that he’d placed in charge of Peverell Manor and the elves there.

“Merry Christmas!” Harry smiled.

“Merry Christmases, Master Harry Sir!” Dobby replied, bouncing on the spot slightly.

Harry was sure that if it wasn’t for the other elves being there, that he’d have an elf plastered to his leg.

“I have gifts for you,” Harry said, beginning to pass out the parcels.

“Master Peverell gives gifts to elves?” Wissom asked slowly, the very notion so foreign to the older elf that his brain was having trouble processing it.

“Of course,” Harry replied. “It’s Christmas and everyone should have at least one gift.”

Almost reverently, his three newest elves received their present, reminding Harry very strongly of how he himself was not so long ago when he was given his very first present.

“It not be _clothes_ is it, Master?” Lexi shivered.

“No, Lexi, it’s not clothes. It’ll never be clothes,” Harry replied, trying to reassure her.

“Master is too kind,” Neri beamed, placing the long silver chain around her neck before holding up the pendant adorned with the Potter crest to stare at it with her large brown eyes.

“These be useful,” Jaxom nodded gruffly, testing out his new shears by pruning an imaginary bush.

“Can Dobby be giving Master Harry Sir his gift now?” Dobby asked.

Harry smiled at him. “Of course, Dobby.”

A very badly wrapped package tied with a bright yellow ribbon was passed over and Harry happily unwrapped it to find a distinctly Dobby-made jumper of many colours, some in stripes (both horizontal, vertical and even diagonal), others in patches adorning every part of it. Harry’s eyes nearly watered at the sight of so many clashing colours against each other, but that didn’t stop him from pulling it over his head. It was slightly too big and one arm was shorter than the other, but Harry loved it regardless.

“Thanks, Dobby,” Harry said, giving his friend a hug. “I love it.”

A sound near the entrance to one of the dormitories had all six elf heads swivelling towards it before instantly swivelling back to stare at Harry.

“Have a wonderful Christmas,” he said. “Feel free to go back to what you were doing.”

Before he’d even finished speaking, the six had _popped_ away, three back to Peverell manor, the others to their tasks on the island.

-oOoOo-

“Oh, Harry, this is exquisite!” Hermione exclaimed as she pulled the long coat out of the box that it was in.

The black dragonhide seemed to just keep on going the higher that she pulled it. Even with it being wizard-made, using magical materials and enchanted with plenty of comfort spells, it could still pass without much notice in the non-magical world. Only if one touched the cloak would someone realise that it was made of a material unknown to non-magicals.

When Hermione stood and swung it around her shoulders, the length of the coat dropped to her mid-calves. Quickly, she wiggled her arms into it before wrapping it around her body. Most of her hair had ended up inside the coat, the parts that didn’t had bushed out even more than usual around her ears.

“Thank you so much, Harry,” she said, leaping at him to hug the stuffing out of him, thankfully not literally as dinner was still some hours away.

“That’s not the end of your present, Hermione,” Harry grinned.

In response, she stared at him for a second before diving back towards the wrapping and the box that the coat had come from.

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s not in there.”

“Then where?” she asked, a mock-pout on her face.

“Try your pockets,” he suggested.

Instantly, her hands delved into her pockets before re-emerging with two small boxes, one from each pocket. Quickly, she opened first one and then the other.

“Harry!” she near-squealed before leaping at him again and kissing every inch of his face that she could reach.

Finally, she pulled back. “Put them on me?” she asked.

Harry smiled as he carefully pulled out the long silver chain with the elaborate Celtic knot designed pendant and unclasped it. Then he slid his hands around her neck before re-doing the clasp. Laying that box aside, he took the platinum ring with matching Celtic design and placed it onto the ring finger of her right hand.

“One day …” Hermione murmured, a sentiment that Harry smiled at, remembering some of the imaginings about the future that they’d indulged in while lying on the grassy knoll of the island over the past few months.

“Now, time for your present,” she said, near-bouncing over to the chair where she’d left his gift – a large box that nearly came up to his waist when it stood on its end.

As was his habit, Harry took his time unwrapping it, being careful not to tear the wrapping paper. Inside he found a case that was extremely familiar. After glancing up at Hermione and seeing her shining brown eyes, he looked back down and unzipped the case.

“Wow!” he gasped as he beheld the silver and gold saxophone, parts of it glinting brightly as the sunlight hit it.

“I know how much you love yours, Harry, but you’ve had it for nearly two and a half years now and Professor Flanagan mentioned that if you want to continue improving, that you really need to upgrade from a beginner one,” she explained. “This is an intermediate one. It’s not a huge improvement, but I’m told that you’ll be able to tell the difference.”

“Thank you, Hermione, it’s beautiful.”

After giving her a quick kiss, he knelt down beside the case and reverently pulled it out before attaching the reed and the mouthpiece. Then he began to play, tentatively at first, but with more confidence as time wore on. They were only simply pieces, but the sound and feel of the instrument was amazing; he couldn’t wait to attempt some of the harder pieces that Professor Flanagan had been getting him to learn of late.

-oOoOo-

The small walkway that circled the astronomy dome of Diricawl’s classroom wing was packed with students, parents, staff and friends. The biting wind of mid-winter wasn’t even enough to deter anyone from missing out on being up here on this particular night.

Harry stood against the wall of the dome, Hermione’s back pressed into his front, his arms wrapped around her. Together they stared out at the near-cloudless sky, that was, when Harry wasn’t surreptitiously nuzzling her neck or she wasn’t twisting her body so that they could steal some kisses.

On the grounds far below them, twin tiny black dots were darting about, their silhouettes standing out in the moonlight reflected off of the dazzlingly white snow.

“Ten!” someone, possibly Colin by the sound of it, yelled out.

The countdown was instantly picked up by everyone up there.

“Nine!”

The two shadows were almost frantic now in their movements.

“Eight!”

“Seven!”

Finally, the shadows met together, their work seemingly done.

“Six!”

“Five!”

“Four!”

Couples everywhere on the walkway drew close together. Absently, Harry noted those closest to them: Mike and Susan; Dan and Emma; and even Neville and Hannah inching closer and closer to each other.

“Three!”

“Two!”

“One!”

Hermione spun in his arms, her arms snaking up and around his neck as they drew even closer together.

“Happy New Year!”

The shout was louder, despite the reduced number of voices.

Harry and Hermione, though, barely noticed, too intent on each other and each other’s lips to worry about that. Their cocoon was interrupted by the sound of a high-pitched _whizzing_ , followed by a huge explosion.

Harry lifted his head while Hermione twisted about, her face lighting up with the reds and greens of the great fireworks above them.

Great pinwheels with sparks shooting from its spokes flew across the sky; stars burst forth and chased each other about; a pair of synchronised dancing men made up of green sparkles with orange top hats pranced about amongst the numerous explosions.

Hundreds upon hundreds of fireworks in every colour of the rainbow ignited and exploded over the school. Everyone was clapping and cheering and pointing out their favourites, which was hard as each successive explosion seemed to be even more impressive than the one before.

Twin bursts of fireworks collided and exploded before forming a sparkling red dragon that seemed to roar as it breathed fire consisting of even more fireworks. And then, high about it all, the explosions combined to form twin gigantic W’s.

“Weasleys’ Wildfire Wizzbangs,” Harry grinned. “What a way to bring in the New Year!”

“I can think of better ways, Mister Potter,” Hermione said with a small smile as she twisted about once again, wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him close, proving to him just how wrong he could be.

-oOoOo-

Lord Voldemort stood at the window of the ancient manor that he was currently calling ‘home’. The fact that it technically _was_ his home, being that he was the legal descendant of its previous owner, didn’t help him like the place any more than he ever had.

No, when it came to ‘homes’, there was only one place in the world where he’d ever had that feeling and it was currently barred to him, although, within a year, if all went as planned …

Dawn was just breaking and the shadows were starting to lighten. Deep snow blanketed everything as far as the eye could see – the lawn, the trees and bushes and hedges, even the tops of the tombstones in the cemetery just down the hill.

The first of January was an exciting time for most; for Voldemort, though, it was an especially good day, a day when he could shake off the previous day, the reminder of his birthday when his disgrace of a mother had died. He always liked to do something special on New Year’s Day to shake off the old year and the day that it’d ended on.

“You called, my Lord?” a nervous sounding Malfoy asked from just inside the door.

Voldemort turned and smiled slightly at the sight of the man’s beaten posture, his head lowered, his long platinum blonde hair curtaining his face.

“Yes. Choose twelve of our new recruits, twelve of the healthiest from the Azkaban crew. They should know how to kill and cause mayhem, and make sure that they are unmarked,” he instructed.

“Yes, my Lord,” Lucius replied, the confusion clear in his voice.

“Make sure that they have wands and bring them here so that I can instruct them personally on their mission,” he finished.

“It shall be done, my Lord,” Lucius assured him before quickly backing from the room.

Voldemort turned back to the window to wait for the twelve to appear so that he could begin the New Year in appropriate style.


	25. Chapter 25

The _chirp_ of the security alarm had Chert rolling off of his stone slab bed before his eyes were already open. Two knives were plucked up from their place beside his bedhead and thrust into the waistband of his leather pants. Then, grasping his axe from beside the door to his room, he strode forth. If there’d been time, he would have grabbed up the rest of his weapons. Or maybe considered getting dressed, but at least he had the bare essentials.

As expected considering the time of day, the people who’d arrived inside the Diricawl Academy Receiving Room were unknown to him – not returning teachers or students or one of the other regular visitors to the island.

Chert’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the twelve human males who were milling around the room. Arriving pre-dawn was not considered an honest notion. Even in Gringotts which was open at all hours, it was well-known that only those with nefarious deeds in mind or those who had something to hide would do business in the dark of night or before the day began.

His hand was already hovering over the appropriate gemstone when he noticed the humans pull their wands. Chert couldn’t help but grin viciously, his rows of pointy teeth prominent.

The instant one waved his stick in a pattern directed at the door, Chert’s hand slammed onto the gem, directing his magic into it. A quick step to the left and the lever there was pulled. Two more steps to the left brought the goblin Security Chief to the four small wheels attached to pipes that went up and down the wall before branching off and then into said wall. Every wheel was quickly twisted to the left.

His job done, the school and island secure, Chert repositioned himself in front of the one-way mirror to watch his handiwork. It was all that he could do to stop himself from laughing at the antics of the humans inside. He knew that, technically, he hadn’t quite finished his job, but waiting a few minutes to alert the others to the intrusion could wait; there was entertainment to be had.

-oOoOo-

“This will take you straight into the island,” Macnair stated, holding out a length of rope for the leader of the twelve men to take. “You know your orders. Give ’em hell for me. They deserve it after what they did.”

Vicious grins and nods greeted his instructions.

“Don’t worry, we will,” their leader, Daniels, replied. “They’re not going to know what hit ’em.”

“Make sure that they do, _after_ you’ve had your fun,” Macnair retorted.

“We know our orders,” Daniels near-growled. “Gather round, boys, there’s fun to be had.”

The twelve Death Eaters grouped around and the rope was passed around until every one of them had a good hold of it. With a last glance around at his men, Daniels tapped the rope and they disappeared in a swirl of light and a feeling of being hooked behind their navel.

They landed awkwardly in the middle of a large room; only the fact that they were packed so closely together meant that they were able to steady each other so that none fell when they landed. Immediately, all but one dropped the rope to turn about to take in where they were. Even though the rope was no longer a portkey, having completed its purpose, it was still gathered up and placed in a pocket – there was no need to leave any potential clues behind for the Aurors after they came to find what was going to be left of this place.

The room that they’d found themselves in was fairly basic – there were a couple of benches off to one side and a large mural of the school logo that was instantly sneered at by most. A fireplace was set into an alcove behind them, obviously connected to the FLOO judging by the size of it.

“Where’s the ruddy door?” one of the men asked, spinning about in place.

“Over here,” one of the others called. “You can just see its outline. But there’s no handle! How are we supposed to get out of here without a handle on the door?”

“Easy,” Daniels grinned, pulling his wand. “Stand back.”

Once his men were out of the blast radius, all, he noted, now with wands drawn, he let loose with his curse.

“ _Bombarda!”_

Daniels could only stare at his wand. Nothing had happened! There had been no jet of deep red and no explosion destroying the door. Shaking his head, he tried it again.

_“Bombarda!”_

Again, there was no corresponding explosion. It was as though his magic wasn’t working. He knew that he had the incantation and wand movement right – after all, he’d been using that particular spell with devastating results for nearly a couple of decades.

The couple of snickers that he heard from behind him had him whipping his head around to stare at the offending perpetrators.

_“Bombarda! Bombarda! Bombarda!”_

Still nothing happened.

“One of you try,” he growled, waving his hand at the others.

Six voices near-simultaneously gave the same cry that he’d just been doing. It was only marginally comforting to see that they all had identical reactions as he’d had.

A rattling sound of metal had the group spinning around to see a thick iron portcullis land with a solid _thud_ in front of the fireplace.

“It’s a trap!” one of the men called.

Daniels’ eyes narrowed. For some reason their magic wasn’t working and now they’d been cut off from the FLOO.

“Right, let’s get back,” he began to order.

“But the Dark Lord …” one of the others countered in a worried voice.

“We can’t complete the mission and if we stay here we’re going to get caught,” Daniels snapped back. “He’ll understand.”

There were a number of doubtful looks at that, but none dared question the order – they all knew what Daniels was capable of, with or without magic.

“Activate!”

The cry was heard from each of them after they’d thrust their hands into their pockets. The fact that every one of them were still standing in place immediately after doing so told them that they weren’t going to portkey out of there.

“Can’t apparate either,” Peterson grunted.

“Hey, what’s that?” another asked, pointing to the tops of the closest wall.

Daniels stared up and frowned. There seemed to be some kind of air coming into the room from the small holes dotted regularly all around the room. Looking closer, he noted that there was a second set of holes near the bottom of all of the walls as well.

Whatever the air was, he couldn’t smell anything, so he didn’t _think_ that it was dangerous, but there was no way to be sure of that.

When one of the men suddenly stumbled from where he’d been standing, everyone stared. Two more repeated the feat seconds later. Then Peterson fell, landing flat on his face, an audible _crunch_ telling them that he’d more than likely just broken his nose. The fact that he didn’t move had one of the others quickly kneeling down beside him.

“I think he’s just asleep,” the man reported confusedly, having turned Peterson over.

Then, one by one, the others began dropping too. Some managed to awkwardly lower themselves down; two even managed to sit on the benches. Daniels himself crashed, landing painfully on his butt, one hand going to his head. His eyes were heavy and it was becoming increasingly harder and harder to keep them open.

The last thing he saw before Morpheus claimed him was the last of his men tipping over.

Then he knew no more.

-oOoOo-

Bellatrix Lestrange stepped out from the deep shadows of Knockturn Alley and closed her eyes, breathing deeply as she savoured what was to come. It had been many, many long years since she’d been able to get out and play. And now her Master himself had come and sent her out to do his bidding.

Behind her, fifteen Death Eaters were arrayed, each clothed in the dark robes and silver skull mask that told all who looked on them to prepare for their own death. Bellatrix, herself, was only clad in the robes, eschewing the mask – she wanted everyone to see her face, after all, just the sight of her was enough to elicit terror in the sheep of the wizarding world.

It was still early in the morning, but not too early that there weren’t people around. Bellatrix grinned at the sight of them.

With a simple wave of her arms, the Death Eaters surged forward, splitting in two as they turned each way into Diagon Alley.

Knowing that they knew the plan, Bellatrix ignored the men; they knew what to do and if they failed, well, then if she was very lucky, her Master would let her have some extra playtime.

With wand in hand, Bellatrix skipped further out into the Alley, a wide smile blossoming on her face as she saw the everyday people freezing at the very sight of her. And then they turned and ran.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” she called after them, “we haven’t even got to play yet.”

Her wand came up and snapped to the left and right as she skipped after the fleeing witches and wizards. Jets of red, orange, purple and yellow exploded from her wand, impacting the stores to either side of her and she revelled in it. Windows shattered into millions of pieces; support beams were blasted apart; fires blazed to life; wares erupted in brilliant explosions of colour.

And still the people ran away,

“You can’t hide from me,” she sung as she saw a man cowering behind a collection of barrels near the apothecary.

Twin _depulso_ s burst forth, sending the man’s meagre cover flying. Instantly, he was up, scrambling backwards but as fast as a viper, her spell caught him, lifting him up and she cackled, seeing his legs still trying to run in mid-air.

“How about you and mean have some fun?” she asked, dropping him to the ground.

Before he had a chance to move, she cast her favourite of all curses.

“ _Crucio!_ ”

The man’s back arched and screams erupted from him. Fingers curled in on themselves as he tried ever so desperately and futilely to escape. When his voice started to become hoarse, she decided to be nice, releasing the spell.

As the man tried to gather his wits enough to stop the shakes and pull himself away across the cobblestones, Bellatrix looked around. And then she saw something that made her eyes light up.

“ _Avada kedavra!_ ”

The man behind her lay still on the street, but Bellatrix ignored him, no longer even the mildest blip on her memory. Instead all of her focus was on the bookstore down the alley.

_Hermione’s Book Nook._

She knew that name. That belonged to Potter. Her Master, she knew, would be especially pleased if she destroyed that abomination. And all of those lovely books were made of paper, and paper _burns._

Three quick jets of magic – two deep blood red and one orange – spat from her wand. Her eyes widened, though, when a deep _gong_ resounded as they impacted on the wards surrounding the store.

A further half dozen spells, each more powerful than the last, erupted from her wand, only to impact the wards with the same result.

Bellatrix threw back her head and screamed with rage. How dare these mudblood-loving fools stop her from having her fun.

“You!” she screeched at one of the other Death Eaters. “Help me take down this ward!”

Her word was law and not just the one she’d spoken to, but a further three joined her as they assaulted the wards around the shop.

Finally, after what seemed an age, the wards crackled with neon blue light before falling.

She laughed in glee and one of the Death Eaters raced forward only to hit something intangible. Bellatrix froze in confusion as she stared at the man momentarily caught in a second set of wards before he vanished, a lingering scream in the air.

“Madam Lestrange! Aurors!”

Bellatrix tore her gaze from the place where the Death Eater had been to look around the alley. Dozens of shops were ablaze, countless more in ruins and bodies littered the streets.

“Time to go,” she stated.

Even as she activated her portkey, she felt a wave of frustration: the mudblood’s bookshop still stood untouched. She was sure that she could vent back at the Master’s manor; after all, there were always new recruits about who needed a bit of toughing up.

-oOoOo-

Senior Auror Kingsley Shaklebolt stepped from the FLOO into the Receiving Room of Diricawl Academy. Taking a quick look around, he noted the stark room with the large emblem on the wall, the bench seating off to one side and the three people in front of him. As he moved forward to talk to him, he knew that the rest of his team would be coming through the FLOO behind him.

“Headmistress McGonagall, Mister Lupin, Mister Black,” he said in his deep bass voice, nodding to the men and shaking the hand of the Headmistress.

“Auror Shaklebolt,” Minerva returned his formal greeting with one of his own.

“I though Amelia would be here for this,” Sirius commented.

“Ordinarily she would be,” Kingsley replied. “However, after this morning’s events, she was needed in Diagon Alley.”

The three shared concerned looks – obviously, the news had yet to travel to the island.

“What happened?” Minerva asked.

“Bellatrix Lestrange and a bunch of Death Eaters,” Kingsley replied succinctly.

“Was anyone hurt?” Remus asked.

Kingsley nodded solemnly. “A number from what I’ve heard. And there was quite a lot of damage to a large number of buildings. You can tell Mister Potter that the wards that he’s got on _Hermione’s Book Nook_ held and the building was one of the few that suffered no damage.”

“Thanks, Kingsley, I’ll do that,” Sirius replied.

“Now, if you could tell us what happened,” Kingsley ordered, taking a small pad and quill from his pocket to record notes on.

“Twelve men portkeyed in here just after four this morning,” Headmistress McGonagall replied. “Their presence was immediately noted by our Security Chief and he initiated counter-measures the instant that he realised that they had hostile intent.”

“How did he determine that?” Kingsley asked.

“They pulled wands and tried to blast apart the door,” she answered.

“I take it by the fact that there’s no hole in the wall over there that they failed,” he noted.

“Indeed,” she smiled. “There’s a reason that this is the only access point to the island; it’s defences are quite formidable.”

“I will want to know exactly what they are,” Kingsley stated before turning to one of his men. “Interview the Security Chief. Make sure you get a full statement about the actions that he took, why he took them and what he saw.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” the Auror replied.

“Where are the men now?” Kingsley asked.

“We’ve got them contained in the cells below ground,” Sirius stated.

“Cells? What does a school need cells for?” a surprised Kingsley asked.

“I’m a werewolf,” Remus stated. “The cells were built to contain myself and any other werewolves on the island the night of a full moon.”

Kingsley nodded his head. “Lead the way and you can outline the exact defences that this room has while we walk.”

“Of course,” Minerva replied.

The trek to the cells was interrupted by a short stop in the main security office where the defences were explained. Kingsley made sure to make detailed notes while internally bemoaning the fact that the security around the holding cells in the Ministry could learn a thing or two from these people.

After traversing a short corridor within the Security Building, the four reached a thick oak door that looked to be too heavy to move without the aid of magic; the three small iron bars set in the tiny window only added to the weight. The door was quickly unlocked and moved aside before they descended what felt like a couple of levels.

The stairs, walls and ceiling were all made from grey stone, in fact, the entire wing was built from the material, the only exception being the thick iron bars set at the bottom of the stairs, again after the small room there and on the doors to each of the cells. There were six cells set along one side of the underground passage, inside of which were two men each, either sitting on the stone slabs or stalking backwards and forwards in the small space that they had.

“Now, which one of you is in charge?” Kingsley asked after walking the length of the corridor and looking into each cell at the occupants.

-oOoOo-

Harry slunk into the Security Office and sidled into the corner to a place where he could watch. Here, he was sure that he wouldn’t be thrown out, in fact, he wasn’t sure that he was even noticed. Well, except for Chert, but it was nigh impossible to get anything passed the surly goblin.

Word had filtered pretty quickly through the school that there had been an attempted break in that morning. Having heard that there had been a dozen men and that they had seemed to have no compunction against blowing things up to get where they wanted to go told Harry exactly who they were: Death Eaters. Oh, they may not have been wearing the robes or masks, but that was immaterial.

He'd barely finished hearing the news before he raced for the building, intent on confronting them. This wasn’t the first time that Voldemort had targeted him; the complete destruction of everything that he’d built in Potter Haven attested to that. And now Diricawl had been targeted as well. He shuddered to think what would have happened had Sirius, Dan and Chert not been as paranoid as they had been when they were designing the security features of the island.

Harry planned to rush straight into the Security Office and demand to see the men. Thankfully, the fact that it was the dead of winter and that he’d had to trudge through over a foot of snow to get there had slowed him down and cooled him off. Instead, he’d decided to sneak in and see what he could find out.

One of the first things that caught his attention was the idle chitchat between two of the aurors. It seemed that there’d been a second target that morning, the other being Diagon Alley where a bunch of people had been killed and a lot of businesses destroyed. His ears perked up at the mention of the _Book Nook_ and the fact that its wards had protected it.

And that made _three_ places of his that had been targeted by Voldemort and his minions.

Harry’s fists clenched and he struggled to control his breathing as the anger inside him built. Voldemort was able to attack and attack without the slightest reprisals. He knew that both of these attacks would go unpunished.

Oh, sure, the twelve below (in the werewolf cells, he learnt) would be taken to the Ministry and charged. But really, what were the odds of them going to prison? Azkaban had already been razed and he was sure that Voldemort would have little trouble breaking these guys out of wherever they were put whenever he wanted.

No, Voldemort and his Death Eaters could do whatever they liked. They walked into people’s houses, killing and destroying as they saw fit and no one could do a thing to stop them. Angrily, Harry wondered how _they’d_ like it if people did the same to them, walking into their houses and causing death and destruction.

Suddenly, he froze, a mad, crazy, _stupid_ idea settling into his brain.

His eyes darted about even as he began to see exactly how it could be done. The only question was, should he? He was sure that he _could_ , after all, he had the abilities.

A stray comment from one of the aurors talking with Chert about how the Death Eaters that morning had even dared to try blowing up part of Gringotts sold him. Voldemort and his followers didn’t care about anyone or anything, regardless of species or how old or precious it was.

Noting that he was being ignored, Harry darted back outside. There, after checking that he was completely alone, he drew his wand and waved it over his clothes, turning them into robes a deep red, an exact match for the ones aurors wore. At the same time, he used his metamorphmagus abilities to change his features – facial structure, hair and eye colour and to make himself bigger and more muscled.

Finally happy with his appearance, Harry walked back into the Security Office, this time acting as though he owned the place.

His steps took him straight to the access to the werewolf cells and down the stairs. Inside the small room at the bottom, he discovered a table holding various items, all obviously taken from the intruders and he smiled.

The wands and knives he ignored. No, it was the twelve pieces of string that interested him. Quickly pulling a stray thread from his robes, he transfigured it to be an exact match for the strings on the table before switching one out.

That done, Harry made his way back up the stairs and through the office to the Receiving Room, giving the two aurors there a simple nod as he passed. He didn’t stop until he’d thrown some powder into the fireplace and FLOOed away.


	26. Chapter 26

After FLOOing to the _Three Broomsticks_ in Hogsmeade, Harry made a beeline for the exit, being careful not to run or to look suspicious. Once outside, he glanced around and, not seeing anyone, quickly ducked into the nearest alley between two of the shops.

There, he cancelled the transfiguration on his clothes, turning the auror uniform back into a pair of jeans and multiple layers of jumpers. His features also changed, his brown hair, brown eyes and new facial structure, morphing back into its normal configuration and the added height, weight and muscle dropping away.

After one last look to see that no one was looking, he softly called for the next part of his plan.

“Dobby!”

A pop announced the arrival of his excitable friend.

“What can Dobby do for Master Harry Sir?” Dobby asked after looking around quizzically at the unusual surroundings.

“Dobby, do you remember a couple of years ago when we were out finding all of the animals and plants for Potter Haven?” Harry asked, having dropped to one knee to look the house elf in the eye.

“Yes, Master Harry,” Dobby replied.

“Do you remember where all of those places were that you took me to?” Harry asked next.

“Yes, Master Harry,” Dobby replied again, this time with eager accompanying nods.

“Good,” Harry stated, standing up. “Dobby, take me to where we saw the Welsh Dragons.”

Dobby stared up at him, his head cocked slightly to the side in obvious confusion, but, being the good house elf that he was, he quickly grabbed Harry’s hand and _popped_ the two of them away.

High up in the Welsh mountains was bitterly cold. The wind that whistled through the cracks and crannies didn’t help in the slightest. The instant that they arrived, Harry dropped Dobby’s hand in favour of wrapping his arms about himself. Hunching his back against the wind, he quickly looked around, not only for what they’d come for but also some shelter from the elements.

The dragons were the first thing that he saw. There were four of them – two adults and two adolescents. _They_ were protected from the cold, tucked away as they were in a small valley, a valley that had high, nearly shear sides that stopped the wind from entering.

Despite his chattering teeth, Harry smiled. Perfect.

Hunkering down, Harry pulled his wand and conjured a length of rope. Then, taking the small string that he’d pilfered from the aurors, he wrapped it around the rope until it was secure.

Now came the fun part: getting the rope in contact with one of the dragons, preferably one of the two adults.

-oOoOo-

There were four of them stationed around the portkey arrival point. Their wands were in the hands, just as they’d been ordered. But they were bored. In the very depths of their minds, they were each wondering about the sanity of the ones that had ordered them there, not that they’d ever voice those thought, they liked their lives free of pain, thank you very much.

But really, guarding the manor from intrusion seemed redundant. Who in their right mind was going to portkey into the depths of the main Death Eater place of operations? Not to mention the fact that the only way to do so would be if one of the pre-made portkeys had fallen into enemy hands. And that was not something that they considered possible, not to mention the fact that aurors had no stomach for getting their hands dirty.

As the third hour of their watch began, the four men shuffled about a bit, trying to relieve the aches that had begun in their legs from standing in the one place for so long. One even dared to lean backwards until his back and head were resting on the old wood.

Bellatrix’s group of raiders had arrived back some time ago, all in good cheer, although the guards noted the absence of one of their number. That absence was explained when the missing man flashed into being ten minutes later looking battered and bruised and clearly favouring his right leg. As he hobbled from the room, they could just make out his mutters about some kind of ward that bounced him to the other side of London.

And then the four went back to being bored. Guard duty was dull and boring, nothing ever happened.

The sudden appearance of _green_ in their midst instantly changed that opinion, or it did for the two men that hadn’t been instantly squashed to death. The great green _thing_ filled the room, pinning the remaining two men against the wall.

And then it stretched, crushing the last of the guards, pulverising walls and caving the roof in.

_Rroooaaarrr!_

The bellow shook the manor as the dragon protested its unwelcome sudden change in location. The fact that portkey travel was intensely uncomfortable didn’t help its mood in the slightest.

Movement from the corner of its eye caught its attention and it swung its head about, splintering walls as it did so. A terrified scream from its opposite side whipped its head back, doing even more damage.

_Rroooaaarrr!_

Its bellow was loud enough to wake the dead, a fact that was proven true as two of the inferi that had been created in the basement rose from the slabs they were on and began shuffling towards the stairs.

The man who was now frozen in place as he stared at the great Welsh Green, his mouth still open even with no sound coming from him, disappeared in a great inferno of fire as the dragon flamed him.

Instantly, the walls erupted in flames. What few fire supressing charms there were had been placed on the outside of the manor, doing little against the intense fire that was started on the inside.

Once again, the dragon shifted about, trying to shake off the building that had it trapped as a dog would shake off water. As the timbers surrounding it creaked and groaned, a little more room was gained and the dragon shifted, flexing its wings and tail.

Annoying flashes of light began peppering its head, getting closer and closer to its eye and it moved, lashing out with one great paw, coming down on the annoyance, squashing it flat until its screams were abruptly cut off.

As the dragon raged downstairs, trying to find its freedom, a racing black-clad man slammed one particular door open, heedless of the fact that at any other time, doing do would result in his immediate death.

“My Lord!” the man gasped to the pale-skinned, bald man with reptilian feature, “Are you alright?”

“What’s going on?” Voldemort demanded, even as the floor shuddered and heaved, causing him to stagger sidewards, only remaining upright by grabbing hold of his throne.

“Dragon! There’s a dragon downstairs! Portkeyed in,” the man near-screamed in his panic.

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. Ordinarily, he would dismiss such claims and kill the man where he stood for the stupidity coming out of his mouth. But even from two levels above the portkey room, Voldemort had heard the creature’s bellows, not to mention the fact that he could feel the house coming apart at the seams.

“How did it get here? Who _dared_?” Voldemort snapped, before waving his questions away. “Come here!”

Instantly, the man complied, staggering across the room as the manor shuddered once more.

Voldemort wasted no time, snatching the man’s arm and thrusting his wand viciously into his Dark Mark. Message sent, he dropped the arm and raised his wand. Incantations erupted in flashes of white as he dispelled the anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards.

“Go! See to my faithful. Make sure that any who are still too weak from Azkaban are taken to safety,” he ordered and the man took off at a dead run, not even bothering to acknowledge his orders.

Voldemort himself twisted on the spot, apparating a short distance away to a place where he could observe what was happening to Riddle Manor.

Flames billowed from one side of the house even as a great gout of flame burst forth from the front windows. Already, one third of one of the walls had disappeared, the timbers and wood from it scattered across the snow-packed lawn as though a great fist had simply punched the wall away. The roof was leaning dangerously to one side.

No, it was obvious that Riddle Manor was lost, a sentiment that was only confirmed as a great green paw smashed through a wall before withdrawing.

Voldemort’s rage was enormous and he screamed to the heavens. Whoever did this, whoever had the audacity to attack him and his in this way, in his own home no less, would pay. Their death would not be swift. No, he would flay their skin from their bones slowly, relishing every scream and make them watch as he tortured and killed everyone that they loved right in front of them.

A massive creak and groan came from the house as it tilted further to the side. And then the roof exploded outwards as a Welsh Green burst from it. The dragon scrambled up the very top of the structure before leaping upwards, its wings beating fiercely as it climbed higher into the sky. It only paused once, its long sinewy neck angled down so that its head was positioned just right to send a jet of super-hot flame straight back down through the hole into the depths of the manor.

Voldemort raised his wand, wanting to strike the beast down, but even his immense power couldn’t stop a dragon. Instead, he turned on his heel, leaving the ruins of his grandfather’s manor behind once and for all.

-oOoOo-

When Harry stepped from the FLOO, it was to find an angry-looking godfather waiting for him.

“Hi, Sirius,” he said cheerily, “what are you doing here?”

“Where have you been?” Sirius asked intently, his grey eyes boring into Harry’s.

“Um, out?” Harry said, rocked back on his heels by the unexpected fierceness of the question.

“Out? Out where?” Sirius insisted.

“Just … out. There were a few things that I needed to take care of,” Harry replied evasively.

“Did you go to Gringotts?” Sirius asked.

“Um, no?” Harry replied.

“No. So you weren’t in Diagon Alley then?” Sirius asked.

“No,” Harry replied confusedly. “Why would you think I’d go there?”

“Just checking. There was a Death Eater attack there this morning,” Sirius stated.

“Yeah, I know,” Harry replied grimly. “Heard some of the aurors talking about it before I left.”

“Speaking of the aurors,” Sirius said, taking a step forward, “did you happen to talk to any of them or go where you had no business being?”

“No,” Harry lied and hoped that his godfather couldn’t see through it.

“Because there was quite the uproar just before the aurors left,” Sirius continued as though Harry hadn’t answered him. “It seems that one of the portkeys that we’d taken off of the Death Eaters who tried to attack here went missing. The funny this is that it was replaced with a transfigured piece of cotton. And the only way that could happen is if it was taken deliberately.”

“A portkey?” Harry asked, trying to sound confused.

“Yes. A piece of string with a portkey charm attached that led straight into Voldemort’s lair,” Sirius confirmed. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“What? No? Why would I want a portkey to _Voldemort_? Anyone who portkeyed there would have to be a complete idiot,” Harry stated emphatically.

Suddenly, Sirius’ wand was in his hand and he was casting spells at Harry, swiping it up and down like a non-magical metal detector used by a security guard at an airport.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, rapidly stepping backwards.

“Just checking,” Sirius replied. Finally, he stopped with the wand waving. “Well, you’re clean. No portkeys on you and no portkey residue either, so you haven’t been using one.”

“What? Are you saying that you thought that _I’m_ the one who took that portkey?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Yeah. Sorry. It just made sense,” Sirius replied, rubbing the back of his neck in a sheepish manner. “The portkey was there and then it was missing and you were gone as well.”

“Well, if it helps, I just had to go to Hogsmeade,” Harry said, trying to stick close to the truth.

“Oh, why?” Sirius asked.

“There’s a building for sale there and I wanted to check it out to see if I should buy it,” Harry replied with the first thing that came into his head. “Decided not to.”

“Okay, then,” Sirius replied. “Sorry about all that. Come on, let’s go get some food.”

Then, slinging his arm over Harry’s shoulder, the older man led the teen from the room.

-oOoOo-

Lestrange Manor was grander than Riddle Manor. It was definitely much larger and, although it hadn’t been occupied in nearly a decade and a half, it was still in fairly good condition. The only problem with it was the fact that it was sure to be under some sort of surveillance, thus, Voldemort had been sure to erect only the barest minimum of wards and instructed his people to keep out of sight, preserving its derelict appearance.

“Report,” Voldemort snapped at Jenkins, one of his informers inside the DMLE, as Nagini twirled her way around her master’s new throne.

It had been mere luck that the Dark Lord’s familiar had been out hunting when the dragon attack occurred or else she would have been lost.

Jenkins, for his part, barely raised himself from the floor before he began speaking; he’d heard about what had happened that morning at Riddle Manor and had no desire to bear the brunt of the Dark Lord’s displeasure at what the dragon that had been portkeyed into their last hideout had done.

“My Lord,” he began tentatively. “All the men that you sent to that school were captured.”

“How much damage did they do before they were apprehended?” Voldemort asked.

“None, My Lord,” Jenkins replied.

“None!” Voldemort hissed.

Jenkins flinched as he saw the wand appear in his master’s hand. A sudden shift away from him, did nothing to ease the tension.

“Crucio!” Voldemort screamed.

Jenkins flinched as a body slammed to the ground behind him, a scream ripped from the throat of the man being tortured. The sounds of the man flopping about the ground were the only sounds in the room for some time. Eventually, though, their master’s rage was slacked and the spell was lifted.

“Now. Tell me how it is possible that twelve men can be captured in a _school_ without doing any damage,” Voldemort hissed and Jenkins knew that if he didn’t have the answer, then he’d be the next being crucio-ed.

“My Lord, they have defences in place that we knew nothing about,” Jenkins stuttered. “But I’ve read the report, I know what they are now.”

“Tell me,” Voldemort hissed.

“Apart from the ward that stops those with the Dark Mark from even getting on the island, they’ve made it so that you can only arrive on the island in one place, a room, a room that has been enchanted with runes so that no magic can work in it,” Jenkins said. “They also use extra wards and gates to stop anyone from leaving once they arrive. And then they pump some kind of muggle gas into the room that can knock anyone out.”

Voldemort stared at him and Jenkins made sure to keep his head lowered. Finally, the Dark Lord began pacing.

“You have done well to bring this information to me,” Voldemort said. “Go. I shall reward you later, after I have had time to think on it.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Jenkins said and continuously bowing, he retreated backwards until he bumped into the door.

Then, as quickly as he could, he turned the handle and escaped.

-oOoOo-

At any other time, one would expect a special edition of _The Daily Prophet_ would be put out after the devastating attack on Diagon Alley by the Death Eaters. And those expectations would have been met except for one tiny detail – one of the places that was damaged in the attack had been the _Daily Prophet_ offices themselves. Thus, the edition covering the attacks didn’t come out until the following day, after the people running the paper had had a chance to repair at least some of the damage, including the damage to their printing press.

So, once again, for the countless time since the beginning of the school year, the students and staff of Diricawl Academy were reading about a Death Eater attack over breakfast. What made this one such an intense read was the fact that, apart from the six-page coverage of the attack on Diagaon Alley, there was an additional half-page report about the attempted assault on Diricawl that was thwarted before it even began.

_The Daily Prophet_ had taken a slightly different stance on these attacks, condemning every aspect of the attacks, praising every decision and action that the aurors had taken, written in-depth biographies of those who had fallen in the attack and reprinted the wanted pictures of the Death Eaters that had escaped Azkaban.

And contrary to past issues, the _Prophet_ also praised Diricawl’s stance on detecting those who carried the Dark Mark and ways to capture these villains. They even went so far as to suggest that others – individuals, business and even the _Ministry_ – should follow the school’s example and erect similar wards of their own.

Harry couldn’t help but smile as he realised that.

Unexpectedly, Sirius plonked down on the seat directly across from Harry and stared intently at him.

“Page eleven,” he stated.

Confusedly, Harry followed his godfather’s cryptic instructions. After scanning the page, he looked up, his eyebrows raised as though questioning the man on what he should be seeing.

“Bottom left-hand article,” Sirius said.

Harry’s eyes searched for the appropriate article, his eyes widening when he found it.

_Rogue Dragon Spotted by Muggles  
by Markus Waynesbury_

_Aurors and Obliviators were called to Lancashire yesterday afternoon when a Welsh Green was spotted flying over the county. No less than fourteen muggles had to have their memories wiped of the rogue dragon; three also were in the possession of cameras (muggle image-taking devices) that showed the dragon and could have exposed our entire society._

_Exactly why the Welsh Green was flying over Lancaster is under investigation, although a representative from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures does not expect the beast’s motives to ever be known. The only information that could be ascertained is that the dragon appeared to be headed for Wales and presumably its nesting grounds._

After reading the article, Harry looked up, being careful to keep any hint of guilt from his face.

“We’ve heard from Snape,” Sirius said, nearly spitting the other man’s name, “that somehow a Welsh Green Dragon was portkeyed into Voldemort’s headquarters. Something like eighteen people were killed and the place was destroyed before the beast could escape.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Harry asked. “Less Death Eaters and anything that interrupts whatever plans Voldemort has has to be a good thing.”

Sirius nodded slowly. “As long as it doesn’t make the man madder and he retaliates with something worse.

Harry grimaced at that thought.

“What’s particularly puzzling is _how_ a _Welsh Green Dragon_ was portkeyed there it the first place,” Sirius said intently. “Especially after what I told you happened yesterday.”

Harry kept his face as impassive as he could. “That does sound mysterious.”

“Yes. And it’s probably a good thing that Voldemort doesn’t know who did it and even if he did, that he’d never come forward to press any charges. Could you imagine what the DMLE would have to charge someone with for doing that? Illegal portkey use. Transporting a Class XXXXX creature illegally. Manslaughter through the use of a deadly creature. Destruction of property. Breaking the Statute of Secrecy. And they’re just the ones that I can think of off the top of my head.”

“Good thing that no one knows who did it then,” Harry agreed. “I’m sure that the aurors wouldn’t like having to charge someone who took out a bunch of Death Eaters after what happened yesterday in the Alley, not to mention the ones who came here intent on destroying the school and hurting everyone here. _And_ all of the other stuff that they’ve done over the past few months. Like what happened to Potter Haven.”

“Exactly,” Sirius said, staring hard at Harry.

Then, after a long last look, the older man got up and strode away, leaving the messy-haired teen to slump slightly in his seat.


	27. Chapter 27

“We know that there’s seven of the blasted things,” Moody growled from where he was pacing to the side of the chairs in Dumbledore’s office.

“Two of which have already been destroyed,” Croaker stated, lifting his head from the stack of parchment containing all of his notes that currently sat on his lap.

All seven of the group that had been assembled to find a way to defeat Tom Riddle – or, as the man in question preferred to call himself, Lord Voldemort – were there, brainstorming away. They knew that it was imperative that each and every one of Riddle’s horcruxes had to be found and destroyed. Without that happening, the Dark Lord simply could not be defeated; at least, not permanently.

“The diary and Slytherin’s locket,” Amelia continued. “But there doesn’t seem to be any real connection between the two, and nothing that would suggest a pattern that we could use to be certain of what the others were.”

“Perhaps not by themselves,” Dumbledore said, his blue eyes twinkling over his half-moon glasses. “But when you add in the other clues that I’ve gathered, a pattern does emerge.”

“You’re talking about Hufflepuff’s cup, aren’t you?” Sirius asked. “We saw it and the locket together in that memory of that old woman.”

“Hepzibah Smith,” Kingsley supplied.

“Right,” Sirius said, nodding his thanks, “her.”

“The cup and Marvolo Gaunt’s ring,” Dumbledore said. “Movolo himself stated that the ring belonged to the Peverell line.”

“He wasn’t wrong,” Harry said, his thumb absently running over the replacement ring that he now wore.

“So, you believe that he’s used historical items?” Moody asked.

“The diary doesn’t fit that pattern, though,” Algeron interjected.

“Ah, but you forget that the diary was connected to Slytherin’s basilisk; it allowed the one possessed by the horcrux to control the beast,” Dumbledore twinkled.

Moody spun at the statement. “He could control the beast. What if he’s done it again, used an animal?”

“Riddle does seem to have extraordinary control over his familiar; Nagini, I believe her name is,” Dumbledore mused, sitting back in the chair and running a hand through his beard as he contemplated the idea.

“The man’d have to be a fool to place a horcrux into a living entity; they’re simply too vulnerable to use,” Algeron snorted. “Kill the animal and the horcrux dies, too.”

“I don’t think that we should completely rule out the possibility,” Dumbledore stated. “After all, housing a horcrux within Nagini would enhance his connection to her and increase the image of his link to Slytherin that he’s always purported.”

“Fine. Say that it is. But if you add in the snake, the cup and the ring, we’re still two short,” Moody growled.

“One,” Algeron corrected, holding up a single finger. “Remember that one piece has to be within his own body.”

“Right, then. One,” Moody nodded.

“Seems to me as if he’s going after Founder’s objects or at least things related to them,” Amelia said slowly. “What other relics are still in existence?”

“Very few,” Dumbledore replied. “And none that their whereabouts are known. Ravenclaw’s diadem was lost a millennium ago. Gryffindor’s sword only appears when it’s needed and has a habit of secreting itself away between times.”

“And the Sorting Hat,” Harry piped up.

“Right you are, Harry,” Dumbledore said, his eyes fixing delightedly on the boy. “The Sorting Hat once belonged to Gryffindor himself before the four Founders poured their magic into it to make it what it is today.”

“I’ll thank you for not referring to me as an ‘it’,” the Sorting Hat groused. “And before you get any other ideas, I can assure you that I am completely me without any of that _man_ inside me.”

Moody eyed the hat suspiciously but apart from a single wave of his wand, seemed to take the Hat at its word.

“For now, perhaps we should work on finding the ones we know about,” Kingsley suggested.

“A much harder task,” Dumbledore stated.

“They’ll be in places that mean something to him,” Algeron said.

“So, Hogwarts,” Harry piped up.

“My dear boy, do you really think that Tom would place one of his most prized possessions and closely guarded secrets so close to me?” Dumbledore chuckled.

“I wouldn’t rule it out,” Moody grumbled, “not with the size of the ego that the man has.”

Dumbledore nodded but his scepticism was plain for all to see.

“He originally gave the diary to Malfoy before Malfoy stuffed up and planted it on an eleven-year-old girl,” Amelia reminded them.

“You think it’s likely that he gave one to another of his fanatics to safe-guard?” Kingsley asked.

Amelia shrugged. “It’s possible.”

“His top lieutenants, apart from Malfoy, were the Lestranges – Bellatrix, Radolphus and Rabastian,” Moody stated.

“Lestrange Manor was searched top to bottom after they were arrested and anything Dark was confiscated,” Algeron said. “I can assure you that a horcrux would have been found if there had been one there.”

“But isn’t Gringotts the safest place in the wizarding world to keep your valuables?” Harry asked, remembering Hagrid telling him that very thing the first time that he’d stepped into the bank.

“Well, if they had one and if they’ve hidden it away in their vault, it’s lost to us,” Amelia stated.

“Not necessarily,” Sirius mused. “Before Bellatrix married into that family, she was a Black. There might be a way, but it’s a bit of a long shot.”

“Look into it then,” Moody commanded. “I’ll take long odds over none at all.”

“That still doesn’t help with the others, there’s no way that Riddle’d keep two together,” Algeron said.

“What about his grandfather’s place?” Kingsley asked.

“Which one? His muggle grandfather’s or the hovel that the Gaunts lived in?” Amelia asked.

“I do not believe that Tom would have hidden one in either place,” Dumbledore interrupted. “Tom despised his muggle roots and he would have been less than impressed by the lowly standards of his Guant heritage.”

“Where then? The orphanage where he grew up?” Sirius asked.

“Again, highly unlikely,” Dumbledore replied.

“Not to mention that the place was torn down decades ago,” Moody stated. “I’ve already followed that lead up.”

“Then we need to keep tracking his life, finding out where Tom went after leaving _Borgin and Burke’s_ ,” Amelia stated.

“And while you’re doing that, I’ll see what I can do about Bellatrix’s vault,” Sirius declared.

-oOoOo-

There was an air of excitement in the room as the four prospective new animagi settled onto the mats spaced about the classroom. Each knew that today was the day that they’d been working towards for nearly a year and a half – the day that they’d find out, firstly if they had the potential to be an animagus, and secondly, what that animal actually was.

Nearly eighteen months they’d been working on their mental abilities, creating mindscapes that organised their thoughts and allowed them to tap into their magics and primal nature. Creating the potion that would allow them to drop into a trance and connect with their animal had been the work of the past four months.

Each knew that after today there was still a lot of work to go – another two months of brewing time to tune the potion to their bodies, allowing them to transform into the animal, followed by anything from three to six months of hard work teaching their bodies its new shape and then being able to alter their shape at will quickly and efficiently.

But still, they were well over half way there.

As each of the four found the position that worked for them the best, Professor Black moved between them, placing a goblet of their potion in front of them.

At the very front of the room were the others that were still on the journey to reach the point that these four had already reached. Today, they too would be undergoing an important step – being evaluated by Professors Black and McGonagall as to their readiness to begin the brewing process. None, not even their teachers, doubted that they’d be ready. Well, all except for Dennis and Mickey who were far too young to be capable of the NEWT-level self-transfiguration that was involved in the process.

“Now, whenever you are ready, you may begin,” Professor Black smiled at the four. “Make sure that you’re as relaxed as you can be and then simply drink up.”

Each of the four nodded before their eyes closed and then, one by one, each reached out, picked up the goblet and downed the potion.

-oOoOo-

It was almost second nature for Hermione to step onto the landing that led to her mindscape. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out an old bronze key and fitted it into the lock. A twist and a push had the door opening to her library.

This library was everything that she could ever imagine a library to be. The shelves and shelves of books was seemingly endless and over in the corner was the comfiest chair that she could curl up in and read to her hearts’ content.

Bypassing that corner, she began wandering the aisles, looking out for whatever it was that would take her to her animal. Harry’d said that a window that hadn’t been in his mindscape before had been his connection to Tavi.

Idly, she raised a hand and ran it along the spines of the books as she walked. These books were both her memories and her defence. In actuality, only a very small proportion of the books contained memories, the rest were decoys. Some were actually books that she’d read; many were blank. And then there were the ones that would ensnare an intruder within their pages, keeping them reading and trapped there for all eternity unless she expelled them first herself.

Her head cocked at the sight of a large brown spine that was slightly out of alignment with those around it – an anomaly in her orderly library. As she approached it, she wondered where it had come from for it was not one that she had placed here. And then comprehension dawned and she smiled.

Lifting the book down, Hermione retreated to her reading corner and placed the book on her lap. Her hands caressed the blank cover; there wasn’t even a hint of a title or author. Slowly, she opened it to the first page.

An image of a dazzling painting greeted her and she stared, mesmerized. It was a forest, a young forest, judging by the size, shape and colour of the trees. Everything seemed so very lifelike. Almost unconsciously, Hermione leaned forward until her nose barely brushed against the image and then she was falling, falling until she landed on her feet in the very forest that she’d just been looking at.

Her head whipped around, trying to find the way in, or more precisely, back out again. She sighed as she found the book lying just behind her. Without lifting the cover, Hermione knew what she’d find inside – an image of her library. The thought of opening it to be sure flittered through her mind, but she rejected it – she was here for a purpose.

Making note of where the book lay, Hermione began to move off, looking about the forest as she searched for her animal counterpart.

She’d barely gone a dozen steps when a flash of red off to the side caught her attention. She froze in place, careful not to do anything that might scare the animal away.

And then she saw it: a beautiful fox stepping out onto the path in front of her. Its red tail was big and bushy, not unlike her hair, and its eyes shone with intelligence. In an eerie imitation of her, the fox’s long pointed face cocked to the side as it considered her. Seeing no threat in her, it turned and began trotting down the path.

With a smile, Hermione quickly moved to follow it.

-oOoOo-

Neville’s greenhouse was exactly as he’d left it, even down to the pile of pots beside his workbench and the half-opened bag of fertilizer that he’d left off to the side. He couldn’t help but run a critical eye over each and every plant.

They were all in tip-top shape. Some were even waving their tentacles in greeting. A fine mist began to fall as his timed watering system clicked in. Oh, Neville knew that watering his plants wasn’t strictly needed, this being his mindscape and all, but it just didn’t feel right not to ensure that his plants weren’t watered and fed regularly.

And it was important to him that his plants were as healthy as possible. After all, his memories relied on the protection provided by his plants. When he’d first begun setting up this ‘greenhouse’, Neville had buried his memories inside the pots, deep in the root system of his plants. The more important the memory, the more special the plant that was placed with it in the pot. His most precious memories were guarded by the venomous tentacula and the devil’s snare.

As Neville began moving about the greenhouse, he stumbled over something, only barely being able to catch himself from falling by grabbing onto his workbench. With a frown, he looked back; he didn’t remember leaving anything lying about on the floor.

What he saw caused his frown to momentarily deepen before a wide smile broke out on his face.

There, set into the very floor, was a trapdoor, its handle being what he’d tripped over.

Instantly, Neville hunkered down before lifting the door set into his floor. Inside, he found a set of circular stairs. With barely a second thought, he began walking down them. After descending what seemed a long, long way, he found himself in a forest.

It was a dense forest with much different types of trees than he’d seen before; although many looked familiar, this obviously wasn’t an English forest.

His eyes eagerly drank in the sight of the unfamiliar trees, cataloguing everything that he saw, what was the same and what was different. As he walked along, he ran his hands over the bark or let the leaves run through his fingers.

A light, tinkling sound caught his attention and he set off in its direction. As he approached, the sound grew louder until he unexpectedly stepped from the forest to stand on the banks of a river.

This river, unlike the steady, sedate ones that he was used to, was running rapidly down the side of the small mountain. Water tumbled and bubbled in its headlong rush to reach the bottom. But it wasn’t so much the river that captured Neville’s attention, it was the great brown grizzly bear standing in the middle of the water.

As he watched, fish began jumping from the water, propelling themselves upstream with each leap. And that was exactly what the bear was waiting for. Paws swiped as each fish jumped. It wasn’t until the third fish that the bear’s claws captured its prey. Then, with the fish now between its teeth, the bear lumbered from the water, barely sparing a glance at Neville as it passed.

-oOoOo-

Luna always enjoyed visiting her mindscape. The forest here was much like the one that surrounded The Rookery, the Lovegood ancestral home, only without the various human touches that had crept in over time. She’d even populated it with dozens and dozens of animals and creatures, both mundane and magical.

As she strolled barefoot through her forest so that she could feel the grass between her toes, Luna stretched high, offering her fingertips to the fairies fluttering about. As one landed on her finger, a burst of the memory of the cooking with her mother when she was five filled her mind. Absently, she wiped away the tear that had fallen. As much as she’d like to think that she’d gotten over her mother’s death, she knew that particular pain would always be with her.

The animals that she’d populated her forest with held her memories and it was by touching them that she could access them. She pitied any that tried the same trick – not having her magic would mean that the animals would transform and grow into gigantic versions of themselves, capable of swallowing a person whole if needed or stomping them into the ground.

As she approached two of the trees in her forest, they twisted together to form an arch just big enough for her to walk through.

Luna stopped and studied it for a moment before bowing to the trees and stepping through.

She found herself on the banks of a river. It was a tranquil sort of place with slow moving water and Luna smiled. Absently, she plopped herself down, dangling her feet in the deliciously cool water. Idly, she looked around, knowing that this was the habitat of her animal.

And then it appeared.

Luna blinked at it, never having seen or read about any animal like this one before, not even in the Quibbler.

It was currently laying in the water, its small eyes watching her as it drifted along. Apart from its duck-like bill, it was covered in fur, including its large flat beaver-like tail. Without warning, it began swimming towards the bank just to the right of where Luna was sitting. As it emerged onto land, she saw that each of its four feet were webbed and had powerful-looking claws.

And then it disappeared. Twisting her body about, Luna flopped her head over the small bank, her hair dangling down into the water, but she ignored that. There, cut into the side of the bank was a burrow. Carefully, she positioned herself so that she could look inside.

There was just enough light filtering down the hole so that Luna was able to make out the creature. It was currently turning about itself, obviously looking for just the right position. As it moved, Luna blinked – there, in the centre of a nest, were three small eggs.

Sitting back upright once more, Luna considered what she’d seen and had to reluctantly shake her head. It wasn’t a crumple-horned snorkack, nor was it a nargle, although both would have been nice. No, whatever this animal was, it was nothing like any animal that she’d ever heard of before.

Luna couldn’t be happier.

-oOoOo-

Being a Greengrass meant that Daphne was quite familiar with large open spaces and especially with endless fields and hillsides filled with nothing but grass. Thus, it was no surprise when she automatically decided to use that landscape as the basis for her mindscape.

Her biggest problem had been finding a way to place her memories within such a seemingly barren area and also in making sure that they were protected. After much discussion and bouncing around ideas with Headmistress McGonagall as well as with Tracey, Fiona and even her mother, Daphne had adapted the muggle saying of not being able to see the trees for the forest.

In this case, the forest was the grassy hills and the trees were represented by the grass itself. Patches of the grassy leaves dotted all over her mindscape were in actual fact her memories. The fact that the area was so vast and the patches that contained her memories so small meant that there was next to no chance of anyone but her finding them. To add to her security, she’d mined the ground around her memory patches with hidden thorns.

As Daphne meandered through her mindscape, she crested one of the hills but instead of seeing a new field of grass beyond it, she discovered that there was now a rugged cliff that dropped away before her grass fields started up once more.

From up here, the wind whipped at her, her long dark hair flaring out behind. A small speck in the sky caught her attention. Knowing that there were no animals in her mindscape, she instantly knew that this was her animal, what she would be able to become given time.

Her eyes tracked the bird as it glided along, coming ever closer to the cliff. Having been familiar with the birds all of her life, it didn’t take her long to realise that the bird was in fact an owl. Now all that was left was to discover exactly what type. After it landed on a rocky outcrop not far from her, Daphne noted the twin pointed tuffs of feathers growing on its head and instantly knew exactly what it was.

She smiled happily at the owl as it slowly swivelled its great head to stare at her intently before blinking once, turning back around and leaping skyward once again.

-oOoOo-

“Well?” Harry asked excitedly the instant that he saw the four stirring on their mats.

The wait had been excruciating, especially for him. The others, at least, had had something else to occupy themselves with. Sirius and Minerva had spent the time evaluating the rest of the original Diricawl Academy students in their progress in both the mind arts and transfiguration. Each and every one of those tested had passed with flying colours and had been given the go-ahead to begin their own potion-making. The only thing holding them back from starting straight away had been the four locked in their meditative state by the potion that they’d taken.

“Well?” Harry asked again from beside Hermione where he’d dropped to her side and helped her sit up.

Hermione looked up at him and raised an eyebrow, but her excitement was too much for her to keep the identity of her animal to herself.

“A fox!” she exclaimed.

“Makes sense,” Professor McGonagall stated. “In Celtic tradition, foxes are well-known for their wisdom and intelligence.”

“And what about you three?” Professor Black asked the other three.

“Grizzly bear,” Neville grinned.

“That’s you to a T,” Harry laughed before slapping his mate on the back. “The strong silent type.”

“Great horned owl,” Daphne stated.

“Always knew you were smart,” Tracey grinned at her best friend.

“What about you, Luna?” Astoria asked. “What animal are you?”

Luna looked up at all of the excited, expectant faces and smiled at them.

“I have absolutely no idea,” she told them happily.


	28. Chapter 28

A multitude of heads vied for space as each tried to find the best angle to watch Luna. There was minimal jostling happening, at least now. When they first gathered around her, there’d been a fair amount of shuffling and squirming as each tried to see the desktop without jostling said table or Luna herself.

Eyes followed every line that she drew, every stroke of her pen as the image took shape. The head and bill were the first to emerge onto the paper. The eyes were small and the rounded bill, very much like that of a duck, was large, with two small dots on the bill indicated where the animal’s nose was. Next was the body, with numerous strokes giving the impression that it was covered in fur, a sure sign that the animal was a mammal.

The large flat tail that Luna drew in next was very reminiscent of a beaver’s, adding credence to the ‘mammal’ theory, if one discounted the opposite end of the animal and its duck-like bill. And then there were its feet. When Luna added them, it was to show that they small and webbed with sharp-looking claws on each foot.

Finally, after cocking her head this way and that and adding in a few extra lines here and there, Luna nodded and put her pen down.

“My animal,” she said proudly, looking up and around at all of those gathered.

“Are you sure that that’s what you saw?” a doubtful-sounding Hermione asked, “only I’ve never even _heard_ of an animal that looks like that.”

“This was the animal I encountered in my vision,” Luna reiterated. “Isn’t it cute?”

“I think so,” Astoria piped up in defence of her friend.

“Perhaps if you told us more about it, we’d have some more clues to be able to identify it,” Daphne suggested. “Where it was? What it was doing? What it ate, if you noticed that sort of thing.”

Luna tilted her head as she remembered back to her vision.

“I arrived near a stream or a creek. It was all forested but with trees that I’d never seen before, not here in Britain or in any of the Scandinavian countries that I’ve visited with Daddy,” she began.

“Okay, most likely not native to Europe,” Fiona said.

“I first saw it swimming in the water,” Luna continued. “Or floating, really. It was watching me, seemed rather curious, just as curious as I was about it.

“Beavers and otters like the water, maybe it’s related to one of them?” Hannah suggested, sounding unsure about the idea.

Luna shrugged before continuing. “And then it swam towards the bank and went into a burrow. I was able to see inside and it was there, at the back, getting comfortable around it’s eggs.”

“Eggs? Was that what it was eating?” Daphne asked.

“No,” Luna replied, shaking her head and making her dirty blonde hair fly around her face. “The animal was protecting them as though it’d laid them itself.”

“Well, that proves that it’s not a real creature,” Hermione stated emphatically. “Mammals don’t lay eggs, it’s a well-known fact.”

“Actually, I believe that you’ll find that you’re wrong about that,” a voice piped up from the other side of the room.

The group twirled around to find Professor Evans walking towards them, a small pile of books in her hand that she’d obviously just gathered from the stacks that she’d just emerged from.

“What do you mean, Susan?” Harry asked. “I’ve never heard of any mammal that can lay eggs, either.”

“That’d be because there are only two in the world and both are native to Australia,” Susan replied with a smile.

“My animal’s from Australia?” Luna asked happily.

“Is this one of them? Do you know what it is?” Hannah asked, holding up Luna’s drawing.

“It is indeed. That’s a platypus,” Susan smiled. “And don’t feel bad about your confusion, the first British settlers who encountered the platypus had no idea what it was either, and when they brought one back to Britain, the scientist in charge of examining it thought that it was a hoax and expected to find stitches connecting different animal parts together.”

“It’s real?” a confused Hermione asked.

“Very much so,” Susan replied.

“How do you know this stuff?” Harry asked.

Susan simply shrugged. “I’m a pack-rat for all sorts of weird and wonderful information.”

“Well, now you know what your animal is,” Daphne said to Luna.

“A platypus,” the girl stated happily.

“Now you just have to learn everything about it that you can, just like we have to do with our animals,” Daphne concluded, indicating herself, Hermione and Neville.

The way Luna’s face was beaming and the way she was almost bouncing in her chair told them that she couldn’t wait to get started.

-oOoOo-

Sirius really wasn’t sure whether he could do what he’d set out to accomplish. Oh, he’d made it sound to the others that he had a way to access the Lestrange vault in the depths of Gringotts so that he could ascertain whether there was a horcrux hidden away there, but the reality? The reality was that the goblins were notorious for ensuring that no unauthorised persons got into a vault.

Still, though, he had to try. And if he couldn’t do it, then he wasn’t sure what could be done.

He’d spent most of an entire day digging through the boxes of parchment that he’d stored in the attic of Grimmauld Place when he’d renovated it. Anything and everything that his father and grandfather had deemed important enough to keep, he’d simply boxed up and stored away, hopefully never to see the light of day again. Originally, he’d been tempted to burn the lot, but knowing that there were deeds and certificates of all kinds buried in amongst the account-keeping files had had him reconsidering.

Now he was glad that he had.

It wasn’t until the seventh hour that he’d found something that might work buried in the depths of one of the last boxes.

His grandfather, Arcturus Black, had signed the marriage contract between the daughter of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Bellatrix, and Rodolphus, son of the Ancient House of Lestrange. In that marriage contract was a clause stating that the second-born son of the union was to be given the name ‘Black’.

Now, Sirius knew from his own time in Azkaban exactly what that place did to a person’s body. And one of those side-effects was that the person’s ability to reproduce drastically dropped for every year that you were there, thus one of the main reasons that Sirius hadn’t taken up his womanising ways of his youth – he simply wasn’t capable of it any more. And if _he_ was affected that way, then Bellatrix and Rodolphus who had been in Azkaban a number of years long than Sirius had been, _must_ have been affected.

Using that logic, Sirius _thought_ that he might have a case to get the marriage considered void. And to fine the pair for failing to uphold the contract in the first place, a fine that he hoped would get him access to the Lestrange vault.

There were an awful lot of assumptions in that plan, not least of which was whether it was legal, for, while Sirius was now the Head of the Blacks, _he_ hadn’t been the one to sign the contract. Then there was the question of whether the goblins would go along with it or simply laugh in his face.

All he could do, though, was try.

Thus, Sirius, with the contract in hand, strode up the wide, white marble steps leading to Gringotts, intent on seeing the Black family account manager. Oh, how he loathed that particular goblin. He’d been appointed by Arcturus Black and with very good reason – the goblin had a heart as black as the Family name that he looked after. He was a surly little thing, all sharp and curt and made you feel as if you were wasting his time, no matter the reason for being in his office.

Not for the first time, Sirius wished that the foul goblin would simply hurry up and die, then he could appoint someone new, perhaps even Slipshard if he’d consent to the job.

One look around the lobby of the bank showed him a free teller and Sirius strode forward.

“I would like to see my account manager, please,” Sirius said to the teller goblin.

“And who would that be, wizard?” the goblin asked.

Sirius swallowed hard and tried to ignore the shiver that went down his spine as he forced the name out past his lips.

“Gnarltooth.”

The goblin’s evil little grin did not help Sirius’ nerves in the slightest.

-oOoOo-

Croaker sat heavily in his seat, pondering what he’d just discovered, not to mention the possible repercussions, and considering his job as the Head Unspeakable, he could imagine quite a few scenarios based on what he’d just learnt, both good and bad.

That morning he’d finally gotten around to following up a hunch that he’d had for a while. It was Albus’ behaviour that’d put it into his mind that there was more to Harry Potter than met the eye, at least, in terms of his ‘destiny’. Albus was never one to do something without an ulterior motive and with the way he seemed fixated on the boy, Croaker just _knew_ that there was something there.

So, that morning, he’d taken a detour. Instead of heading straight for his office in the Department of Mysteries, he’d taken a different door from the Gateroom – the large circular room with thirteen identical doors, everything done in a matte black except for the torches, that would spin whenever all the doors were closed, simply to confuse unwanted visitors.

After passing through the Time Room, he’d entered the Hall of Prophecies. There, he’d quickly moved to a hidden panel that, once pressed, brought out a pedestal from the wall with one of the largest books in the entire Department sitting on it. This book contained a record of every prophecy ever spoken within the British Isles. Oh, it didn’t say _what_ the prophecy said, only where and when it was made, who made it and who heard it, as well as to whom it was about.

Placing his wand on the cover of the Book, Croaker channelled some of his magic into it while he called out the information that he needed: “Harry James Potter”.

Instantly, the cover flew back and the pages rifled through as though a great wind was whipping them backwards and forwards, before they settled down to show a single entry.

_June nineteen, nineteen eighty-one at the_ Hog’s Head _bar in Hogsmeade. Made by Sybill Patricia Trelawney in the presence of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore in regards to the Dark Lord (Voldemort) and ? (Harry Potter)_

The fact that the notes had been added in later told Croaker that there had initially been some ambiguity in the wording but that events had transpired enough to confirm who was involved in the prophecy.

Croaker’s problem now was what to do with the information. It was very apparent that Dumbledore believed every word of what he’d heard. It was also very clear to everyone who worked in the Department of Mysteries that prophecies, while real, did not have to come to pass – the very number of brightly lit prophecy orbs in the Hall attested to that, after all, an orb would only go dark once the prophecy had been fulfilled.

The big question was whether or not to get young Potter down here to find out exactly what that prophecy said; after all, only the ones connected to the prophecy could move it – the one who made it and those to whom it referred to.

The fact that it named Potter made Croaker less likely to follow through with the idea. One could suppose that it declared that the final battle against Riddle would include Potter, but that couldn’t happen until each and every one of those blasted horcruxes had been identified, found and destroyed.

No, he finally decided. He’d leave off mentioning this until _after_ the horcruxes had been dealt with. Then he’d reconsider his options and decide whether Potter needed to know about it.

-oOoOo-

Only sheer force of will stopped Severus’ head from slamming into the table the instant that the door closed behind his fifth-year Potions class.

He’d never thought that it was possible, but there were some in that group who seemed to be becoming stupider with each lesson rather than less the dunderheads that they were. Unsurprisingly, it was Crabbe and Goyle who were the worst offenders, although both Parkinson and Brown weren’t far behind.

With Christmas past and Easter not far away, Severus knew that his window of opportunity for getting these morons ready for their OWLs was rapidly dwindling.

He’d _hoped_ that enforcing a compulsory hour of remedial work every evening in not just Potions but also Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Charms and Herbology in the Slytherin common room would have produced some results. Sadly, that hadn’t been the case. He hadn’t even attempted to improve their Astronomy knowledge and History of Magic was a lost cause if ever there was one. That, of course, left the elective subjects for the other professors to deal with.

In any other year, Severus would have continued doing what he’d been doing for the past dozen or so years and teach in his normal way and if the dunderheads weren’t up to his exacting standards, then that was their problem, not his.

This year, however, he was being pressured from all sides. The Department of Magical Education was focussing closely on Hogwarts and the results that it was getting; Dumbledore wanted to turn their gaze away, so had decided that it was Severus’ job, as Deputy Headmaster, to ensure that the students passed their OWL and NEWT exams with outstanding results; and the Dark Lord insisted that Hogwarts would put that upstart Academy in its place, a fact that Severus had to ensure, being the only one of the Dark Lord’s servants in the castle.

The thought had briefly crossed his mind that, if he could get away with it, he’d resort to polyjuice and sit their exams himself. It was the only way that many of them would pass, let alone get anything close to a decent result. But that, of course, was an impossibility. Instead, he was stuck with the students themselves.

Not for the first time that year, nor for the hundredth or even the thousandth, Severus cursed the one responsible, the one that had started that accursed school and taken the best and brightest of Hogwarts away:

“Potter!” he growled.

Then, with a shake of his head that mysteriously did not make his long greasy hair move even a fraction, Severus turned to his notes to begin preparing tonight’s oh, so joyful remedial potion lesson for the dunderheads of his own House.

-oOoOo-

Remus looked over his class of twenty-six and smiled at their eager, expectant faces. Each and every one of the nineteen fifth-years, two sixth-years and five seventh-years were an absolute pleasure to teach.

Even the twins had been more studious than he’d been led to believe that they would be. Oh, they still loved to laugh and joke around, but they got their work done. How much that had to do with both Harry and Sirius stating that they’d happily invest in their joke shop idea provided that they did well in their NEWTs was anyone’s guess, but still …

Ordinarily, he wouldn’t be teaching this many students at once. For one thing, it wasn’t Diricawl’s policy; the school had determined that lower class numbers where there was more chance of teacher interaction was a better environment to learn in. But for this lesson, he wanted to make an exception.

Strictly speaking, what he was going to teach today was a charm and therefore ordinarily Filius’ responsibility. But seeing that the primary use for it was in defence against dark creatures, he’d been given the pleasure of teaching it. And considering the complexity of the charm, he’d decided that having Harry, who was beginning to show just how powerful he could be, in the same class as the older students, might be beneficial. A little friendly rivalry never hurt anyone.

“Today,” he began his lecture, “we will be learning the patronus charm. This is an incredibly complex charm that is considered beyond NEWT level in difficulty. However, because of the times that we live in, it was decided that you all should be taught it. Who can tell me exactly what the patronus charm is?”

Unsurprisingly, it was Hermione’s hand that shot up into the air first. Remus simply smiled at her and gestured to share her knowledge.

"The patronus charm is an ancient and mysterious charm that conjures a magical guardian, a projection of all your most positive feelings,” she recited. “A full, corporeal Patronus, is a guardian which generally takes the shape of the animal with whom the caster shares the deepest affinity."

“Thank you, Miss Granger, a definition straight out of Miranda Goshawk’s book,” Remus smiled. “Now, as you just heard, the patronus charm produces a magical guardian. This, of course, implies that there is something that it can defend you against. Can anyone tell me what that is?”

This time it was Daphne who answered.

“Dementors and lethifolds,” she said.

“Precisely. I trust that you can all see why you are going to be learning this charm now when the vast majority of you have yet to even sit your OWLs,” Remus said.

The looks on everyone’s faces told him that they knew _exactly_ why: the dementors of Azkaban had joined Voldemort’s ranks and had been causing terror and panic for months now. Interestingly enough, it was Neville who had the fiercest look on his face; Remus guessed that that was a result of his remembering when the dementors had defected – the night that the Lestrange family had escaped the island prison.

“Now, there is no particular wand movement associated with the patronus charm, a simple point or jab is sufficient,” Remus explained. “And even the incantation is fairly basic: _expecto patronum_. No, the true power behind this charm is the emotion that you put behind the spell. And that emotion is in turn powered by the memory generated by said emotion. The more pure, the happier the memory, the greater the emotion and thus the more power you put into the spell.”

There were a number of cautious nods from the students before him, accompanied by quite a number of reflective faces. Remus smiled, pleased to see that they were already beginning to understand. He had no illusions about the success rate that this lesson would have – he fully expected that no one would be able to produce even the slightest mist, let alone a full patronus, but they had to start somewhere. And there was a full magnitude of difference between learning this spell in a safe, comfortable classroom compared with trying to produce one when faced with a dementor.”

“Now, let’s begin with the incantation before we begin trying to find that memory that is distinctly yours,” Remus said. “Repeat after me: _expecto patronum_.”

“ _Expecto patronum_ ,” the class intoned.

“Good. Again.”

“ _Expecto patronum_ ,” they repeated, this time with a little more feeling.

“Excellent,” Remus praised. “Now for the hard part. I need you to search your memories. You are looking for a memory of a time when you were the happiest, the most content, when you felt the most loved, something pure and good, the exact opposite of what feeds a dementor, something that they won’t understand or be able to abide being anywhere near. Do not rush this part; a half-formed memory won’t work.”

As Remus talked, he began quietly walking about the classroom. It pleased him to see that most had their eyes closed as they searched within themselves. Each and every one displayed signs that they were determined to find the best memory, the one that would work.

It really was a joy to teach students like this. Remus, not for the first time, nor for the hundredth or even the thousandth, thanked the one responsible for starting this school, for bringing these exceptional young people together. It was all he could do not to pat Harry on the shoulder or to ruffle his hair as he passed.


	29. Chapter 29

With a reluctant sigh, Harry turned his back on the window depicting the beautiful day outside. Gentle wisps of white were drifting lazily across the blue and, although he knew that the air would still be quite cool, it was the perfect weather for flying, something that Harry hadn’t had a chance to do of late.

Unfortunately, he’d set aside his Saturday to spend in the school’s computer lab, typing up the essay for Charms that was due on the coming Wednesday. The computers were a great boon in Harry’s opinion, at least, being able to hand in typed pages to his teachers eliminated that scowl or sigh that he’d inevitably heard whenever they’d taken one look at his messy scrawl and realised that they were going to have to try to decipher it as well as mark it.

With notebook, textbook and the two other Charms books tucked under his arm, Harry meandered through the hallways, not seeing any hurry in reaching his destination.

His steps faltered slightly as he stepped through the door to the computer lab. It wasn’t so much the fact that there were others there, after all, everyone in the school had come to see the benefit of using the computers to type up and print out their assignments. No, it was more the composition of who was there.

Dudley was the first that Harry noticed. Beside him was Justin, then Colin, Patrick and Lionel. But what even stranger was the fact that the five were lined up next to each other, not spread around the room as most people tended to do in order to ensure that they weren’t disturbed.

And then the colours that were flashing on their screens caught Harry’s attention and he found himself automatically being drawn towards them. Instead of the simple black text on white, he was seeing blues, greens and greys predominantly, mixed in with a myriad of other colours.

Harry couldn’t take his eyes off of the screen even after he was standing right behind his cousin. It was obviously come kind of game and by the fact that all five screens looked similar, he guessed that the five boys were playing the same thing.

“Not your usual type of game, Duds,” Harry remarked.

And he was right. Dudley had always favoured either the fast games with lots of racing cars or shoot-em-up type games with lots of guns, bullets and dead bodies. This one seemed to be composed of a giant map, with little named towns and icons for various pieces – a boat, a man of some kind and a horse.

“Oh, hey Harry,” Dudley said, barely pausing to look around and up at his cousin. “Nah, this is something that Uncle Mike got us. Only came out a couple of months ago. It’s called _Civilization II_.”

“What do you have to do?” Harry asked.

“You get to build a civilization up from nothing to the most powerful thing in the world and kill everyone else,” Dudley replied.

“Yes, that does about sum up Dudley’s strategy,” Justin drawled.

“Well, it works,” Dudley defended. “None of you have beat me yet.”

“You play against each other?” Harry asked.

“We can all play the one game at the same time,” Colin piped up excitedly. “The computers are all linked together.”

“Did you want to play, Harry?” Lionel asked shyly. “You can have up to eight and there’s only five of us.”

A large hand reached across and pulled out the seat beside him.

“Come on, Harry. Take a seat and let my guys thrash the stuffing out of your guys,” Dudley said.

“What do I need to do?” Harry asked, tentatively sitting down.

A twinge of guilt raced through him as he placed his notebook and books on the next table over, but it was only fleeting, after all, he _had_ promised that he’d spend the day in the computer lab and that’s exactly what he was going to do: one quick game and then type up his essay.

After all, how long could one game take?

-oOoOo-

Sirius cautiously sat in the stone chair in front of his account manager’s desk. It wasn’t that he thought that the chair was going to break, it was simply that anytime that he was with Gnarltooth, Sirius had the urge to run away as quickly as he could. The old goblin exemplified the very idea of surliness.

As Gnarltooth leaned forward in his chair, his beady black eyes locked on Sirius and the minutes began stretching further and further, it was all that Sirius could do to keep his left leg still instead of bouncing in place like it wanted to.

Oh, how he wished that he had the guts to fire the goblin and find one that he could work with.

“You presented us with an interesting proposition,” Gnarltooth finally stated.

Sirius gave a single, jerky nod of his head. He knew that. Attempting to get the marriage of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange annulled had been a long shot and one that he really had no idea of the chance for success.

“The Ancient House of Lestrange is an old one and they have much gold in their vaults,” Gnarltooth continued.

He paused then to stare at Sirius for a long time, making Sirius severely doubt the wisdom of even attempting this course of action. Finally, after the third droplet of sweat had run the length of his back, the goblin resumed speaking.

“Fortunately for you, there were two facts that allowed us to even consider your request. Firstly, was the fact that there are no other Lestrange’s in a position to counter your proposal.”

Sirius nodded at that. Most of the Lestrange family had been wiped out in the first war against Voldemort. Oh, there were still cousins around, but none closer than second or third. No, the only Lestranges left were Rodolphus and Rabastan and Rodolphus’ wife, Bellatrix.

“That, in itself, wasn’t enough for our legal department to look favourably on your request,” Gnarltooth stated. “But combined with the fact that there is a sizable amount of gold sitting idle in the Lestrange vault gave us enough cause for us to grant your request.

“The marriage of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange shall be annulled under the marriage clause created between the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and the Ancient House of Lestrange stating that the second-born son of the union was to be given the name ‘Black’ due to the fact that no issue has been produced nor is any expected to be produced due to the time that the pair has spent in Azkaban prison and its known effects upon those incarcerated there.”

“Thank you,” Sirius stated as formally as he could, while doing his utmost to repress the sigh of relief that wanted to escape.

The easier of the two near-impossible parts to his plan had been accomplished. Now came the harder part: getting his hands on the cup of Hufflepuff stored in the Lestrange vault.

Gnarltooth took a single look at the parchment on his desk before raising his head and piercing Sirius with that beady gaze of his once more.

“The original bride price was fifty thousand galleons. Unfortunately, the Lestrange vault only contains thirty-eight thousand, two hundred and nine galleons in it,” he stated. “You can either simply accept that amount or you can take the balance in items stored within the Lestrange vault.”

Sirius forced himself to answer calmly. “I’ll take the balance in items, please.”

Gnarltooth gave a nod that was almost respectful.

“If you will follow me, we will go to the Lestrange vault now,” Gnarltooth stated.

Sirius leapt from his seat and stood to one side of the door as he waited for the ancient goblin to round his desk and walk to the door. Sirius was sure that the accursed goblin was moving extra slowly just to annoy him.

Eventually, he was led through the hallways of Gringotts and to the mining carts. One long windy, twisty roller-coaster ride later that included a trip through a waterfall that left Sirius drenched for all of thirty seconds before he was magically dried and a glimpse of a dragon, they arrived at the Lestrange vault.

Gnarltooth ran one long sharp claw down the centre of the door, the sound of locks unlocking sounding in the silence, before the door swung open.

“The gold will be transferred to your vault before the close of business today,” Gnarltooth stated. “You may choose items to the value of eleven thousand, seven hundred and ninety-one galleons. Choose wisely.”

With a nod, Sirius began to slowly walk around the vault, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. There was no way that he wanted to accidentally touch something in here – he knew what some of the curses on items in the Black vault would do and he had no doubt that the Lestrange’s had cursed some of their items in identical ways.

It took a long time to wind his way past the mountains of gold, silver and bronze and to make sure that he scoured every shelf and cupboard carefully. Finally, though, after only quarter of an hour of looking he found it. Tucked away on a high shelf near the very back of the vault was a small golden cup with twin handles. The flickering torchlight was just enough for Sirius to be able to make out one of the badgers etched on its side.

“That! I’ll take that cup,” Sirius stated.

Almost instantly, Gnarltooth was by his side, consulting a scroll of parchment.

“Hufflepuff’s cup. It is near priceless. Certainly worth far more than the eleven thousand galleons that you are allowed,” the goblin stated.

“Then I’ll forgo the gold and just take the cup,” Sirius stated.

Gnarltooth scowled at him, a not unexpected reaction considering that the whole point of this deal, as far as the goblins were concerned, was to get the gold back in circulation again.

“Choose something else,” Gnarltooth growled.

“No. I want the cup,” Sirius retorted, determined to hold his ground.

“You cannot afford it,” Gnarltooth retorted.

“Really? I’d have thought that the dark magic on it would have devalued it,” Sirius counted, trying a different tact.

Gnarltooth’s eyes narrowed. “The Cup of Hufflepuff contains no dark magic.”

“I beg to differ,” Sirius replied. “I can feel it from here.”

With a scowl, the goblin waved one clawed hand in the direction of the cup. He froze momentarily before turning more fully towards the cup, lifting both hands and waving them in a more complicated pattern. And then he added a chant to it.

With an even deeper scowl, Gnarltooth levitated the cup off of its shelf and ahead of him as he walked out of the vault, Sirius trailing behind. After setting it down, he stood there, eyeing it as if it was about to get up and run away.

Barely five minutes later, a second mining cart carrying three new goblins arrived. A hurried conversation was held in gobbledegook, all four ignoring the wizard standing back out of the way. Finally, one of the new comers stepped forward, pulled a vial of some kind from his tunic, unstoppered it and poured the contents into the cup.

Instantly, an acidic smell wafted up as the cup began to shake violently. A massive blast erupted, throwing the four goblins and Sirius backwards into the nearby rock walls, as a loud shriek sounded from the cup and a misty green smoke drifted upwards before dissipating.

Sirius had barely picked himself up, still rubbing the back of his head where it had collided painfully with the rock wall when Gnarltooth was standing back in front of him.

“You can have the cup,” he grouched. “One hundred galleons. Now hurry up and choose the rest.”

Sirius nodded, his eyes sliding to the now destroyed and half-melted cup that had once contained a shard of Riddle’s soul.

-oOoOo-

“What is the purpose of the muggle studies course?” Mike asked.

The five non-magicals seated around the table – Mike and Susan Evans, Emma and Dan Granger and Petunia Dursley – all looked expectantly at Madam Marchbanks, the Head of the Wizarding Examination Authority.

“I would have thought that obvious,” Griselda replied, “to ensure that witches and wizards know about and understand their muggle counterparts.”

“Yes,” Mike nodded, “but is it a theoretical knowledge that they are expected to have or is it a practical one as well?”

“Is it expected that the students can blend in to non-magical society and function when they are in that environment?” Susan added.

Griselda blinked at them. “I would have to say that ultimately, we want witches and wizards to be able to interact with muggles in such a way as to not draw undue attention to themselves.”

The five non-magicals nodded and looked at each other.

“Then we have a lot of work to do,” Dan summarised.

Griselda nodded. This was why she’d asked this particular group to examine the tests that were given to OWL and NEWT students undertaking their muggle studies examination. It helped that they were all staff at the school where _first_ years had achieved an Outstanding OWL mark.

“Where do you suggest we begin?” she asked.

“How about clothing?” Emma said.

At her suggestion, Petunia pulled three photographs from a folder and placed them in front of Griselda.

“These were taken by Sirius at the Quidditch World Cup back in ninety-four,” Dan explained.

Griselda nodded absently as she studied the three photos. The first was of two men, one wearing a tweed suit and thigh-high galoshes, the other, a kilt and poncho. She recognised both men as Ministry workers. The second photo was of an older wizard wearing an outfit that was decidedly muggle, although it gave one the impression of a robe. The last was of Barty Crouch Senior dressed impeccably in a muggle business suit.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Would you say that these outfits are typical of what wizards would wear when out in the non-magical world?” Emma asked.

“I would suppose so,” Griselda replied.

“That’s what Sirius, Remus and Minerva told us,” Susan stated with a sigh.

“What’s wrong with them?” Griselda asked, looking down at the photos once more, this time with a frown on her face.

“In a nutshell,” Susan replied before pointing to each one as she made her points. “These two gentlemen are wearing clothing that a non-magical would ever wear as a combination. This guy’s wearing a _woman’s dress_. And this man, while wearing a suit that would make him blend in in the middle of a city, stands out like a sore thumb in the middle of the countryside like he was that day.”

“Really?” Griselda asked, her eyebrows rising to nearly disappear under her grey hair.

“If someone is wearing something f … abnormal, it is going to be remarked upon and noted before they even have a chance to interact with others,” Petunia stated.

“Something as basic as wearing clothing that blends them in needs to be emphasised not only in the students’ course, but also in their examinations,” Emma agreed.

Griselda made a notation on the parchment beside her before looking back up.

“What else did you have that we need to change or add?” she asked.

“Transportation,” Dan stated emphatically.

Mike nodded. “Cars, buses, trains and planes. Non-magicals have come a long way since your muggle studies unit was last overhauled.”

Griselda gave a small sigh and picked up her quill to make another note.

_This,_ she noted, _was going to take a long time._

-oOoOo-

Not for the first time, Lord Voldemort wondered how much of the man’s personality influenced his animagus form and how much the form affected the man.

The object of this thought was currently scurrying towards him, his hands up near his chest as though they were tiny paws and his nose twitching away.

“Wormtail,” Lord Voldemort said, forcing himself to smile at the rat-man.

“My Lord,” Peter replied, the slight frown on his face at the use of the name not hidden by the bow that he was giving.

“I have a task for you,” Lord Voldemort stated. “Stand up and look at me so that I can be sure that you understand it completely. Its success is paramount to our plans.”

“Of course, My Lord,” Peter replied, straightening his back and raising his head.

“I want you to infiltrate the school,” Lord Voldemort instructed. “I want you to find a way in past the wards, a way that I and the rest of my Death Eaters can follow.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Peter replied.

“Draw what resources you need. And while you have some time to make sure that you succeed, do not take overly long. You need to be back here with your report within the month,” Lord Voldemort stated.

“As you wish, My Lord,” Peter replied with a bow.

The man was halfway to the door when he was stopped by a final instruction.

“And Wormtail, your failure will result in something very unpleasant. For you, that is. For me, it will be quite pleasurable.”

Voldemort could hear the gulp that the small man gave.

“Of course, My Lord,” Peter assured his master before quickly ducking through the door.

-oOoOo-

The hovercraft had barely pulled up on the sand before Harry was jumping down. After a slight stumble, he quickly righted himself before jogging off to the group of goblins clustered around a wooden table on top of a small knoll.

As he approached, he saw the lead goblin gesturing between the parchment on the table and the surrounding countryside.

“Slipshard!” Harry called to the goblin standing just off to the side of the table.

“Lord Potter,” the goblin replied, his dark eyes shining at Harry’s scowl.

“How goes things?” Harry asked.

“Everything is on track,” Slipshard replied. “Gravnot’s team is ready to start erecting their wards and the dwarves will be on site later today to begin construction.”

Harry nodded as he watched the team of eight goblins led by the now-named Gravnot, split apart into pairs and begin heading off in four different directions.

The wards, he knew, wouldn’t do much to deter a determined attack on the area, but then, that wasn’t what they were designed for. They were designed to give a warning, allowing those inside the wards a chance to escape.

It’d taken a lot of discussion, but in the end, it’d been decided that the best way to protect the area had been to create a series of wards to enhance the muggle-repelling wards already in place. Each set of wards would extend over a section of the land and would overlap in key places as well.

To the north, the land was going to be purely farmland, able to produce food that would primarily be sold to the school as well as to general magical stores. A series of large greenhouses were set to be built on the southern land. Within these would be plants specifically useful for potion ingredients, as well as edible plants that didn’t cope so well with the adverse weather conditions that could be in effect on the Welsh coast.

And in the very centre of the land, a small town was to be built, thus the dwarves that were due to arrive later that day.

“The road will be done first, won’t it?” Harry asked, thinking that the end of the school year was fast approaching and non-magical parents that would be coming here to pick up their children.

“As discussed,” Slipshard replied, inclining his head.

“Good,” Harry smiled. “How long’ll it take before the town’s built and warded?”

“A matter of days for the wards,” Slipshard replied. “As to the town, that will be determined by how quickly the dwarves work. There are a lot of buildings and most of what they are doing is building the basic structures. They will still need to be outfitted after that. No less than two months, more likely three months.”

Harry sighed. He’d hoped that the town filled with interesting things for his friends to do away from the island would be ready before this school year ended. He consoled himself with the knowledge that it’d be ready before the next school year.

“You still need to name the town,” Slipshard reminded him.

“I know,” Harry sighed. “I just can’t come up with something that sounds cool.”

Slipshard, Harry noted, deliberately kept silent, having already stated numerous times that he wanted nothing to do with naming the town on Harry’s land.

“Mauraderville,” a completely unhelpful voice piped up.

“If you’ve got nothing intelligent to say, then don’t say anything at all,” Harry replied lightly.

“Oi! Is that any way to talk to your loving godfather? The man who’s agreed to give up his precious time to teach you how to apparate?” Sirius asked.

“You only agreed to that so that I’d stop bugging you about it,” Harry retorted.

“If you wish to practice apparition, then may I suggest that you do so elsewhere?” Slipshard asked. “Once the wards have been erected, apparition will no longer be possible and doing so while the anti-apparition wards are being placed could produce some … interesting results.”

“Come on, Pup, there’s a bit of secluded land just over that hill we can use,” Sirius said, pointing out said destination. “I’ll side-along you so that you get used to the feeling.”

Harry held up one finger to his godfather before turning back to Slipshard.

“What about Peverell Manor?” he asked.

“The team that we’ve contracted should already be there,” Slipshard replied. “The wards will be overhauled and the house and lands surveyed by the end of the day.”

“Good. Don’t forget to make sure that they discuss with the elves what they think still needs doing,” Harry said.

“They are aware of your instructions,” Slipshard assured him.

“Come on, Pup, let’s leave these people to their work,” Sirius said.

Before Harry could reply, Sirius had grabbed a hold of his arm and, with a slight turn, the two _popped_ away.


	30. Chapter 30

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” Harry stated, the tip of his wand touching the piece of parchment in front of him.

On the bed opposite, Fred was repeating the exact same phrase, the tip of his wand touching the identical piece of parchment spread out on the bed.

The two of them, along with George and Neville stared in awe as the black ink spread out like a spider’s web, detailing every room on every floor in every wing of Diricawl Academy. And it was, finally, after all of these months, _every_ room; in fact, the very last room had been added to the two maps that very morning.

And then, after the school had been completely made bare to their eyes, the last of the ink spots filled in: the inhabitants of the building.

“Still can’t believe that the elves show up on these maps,” Fred stated.

“They never did that on the Hogwarts’ map,” George agreed.

“Both Dobby and Remus think that it’s because of the elf wards that help protect the school,” Harry replied.

And that was the most likely explanation. The house elves had never put up any wards at the old castle, which as far as Harry was concerned, was a major flaw – human magic could be completely bypassed by elves, meaning that any house elf could come and go from the castle. That was not the case here at Diricawl; _everyone_ , no matter what your species, could only arrive or depart the island via the Reception Room in the Security Building.

“Bit disconcerting, though,” Neville said, “seeing a dot disappear when you’re watching it and to then see it reappear clear on the other side of the map.”

As if she was highlighting his point, Neri’s labelled dot abruptly vanished from the kitchen only to reappear in the Headmistress’ Office.

“This map’s a work of genius, though,” Harry began.

“And how could it not be?” George asked, puffing up his chest.

“Being created by an amazing …” Fred elaborated.

“Extraordinary …”

“Brilliant …”

“Diabolical,” Neville added under his breath, but not quite quiet enough for the twins to _not_ hear him.

Fred and George looked at each other a second before giving a nod.

“Diabolical,” they stated together.

“Pair such as us,” Fred concluded.

Harry gave the pair a nonplussed look. While they had done the bulk of the work, Harry and Neville had done their share and there had been a few others who’d contributed as well, including the Head Boy and Head Girl.

“As I was saying,” Harry said, “the map’s quite genius. It picks up animagi, as expected. But I really wasn’t sure whether it would even show up the non-magicals, but they’re there.”

His eyes found Mike and Susan in the sport hall, his Aunt Petunia in her office and Dudley in the computer room.

“So, what now?” Neville asked.

“Now we take it to Remus to get the final spells added – the ones to bind everything together so that they can’t be undone and the one to name the map,” Harry replied.

“We’re thinking that we’ll just be …” Fred began

“Forge and Gred, since we don’t have an animagus name,” George finished.

“You’re Tavi,” Neville said, nodding at Harry, “but I haven’t got my animagus name yet.”

“Won’t be long though, maybe Remus can add that bit in later?” Harry suggested.

“Well, one way to find out,” Fred said.

Then, with a tap of his wand and a “mischief managed”, he closed the map and stood up.

“Let’s go see him now,” George grinned.

-oOoOo-

A flash of gold was all of the warning Albus had before _something_ bounced onto his desk. It rolled over once and slid on some parchment before coming to rest barely on the edge of his desk.

Looking up, Albus peered over his half-moon spectacles at the one who’d thrown it.

“May I ask what this is, Sirius?’ he asked lightly.

“Right now, it’s just a hunk of gold,” Sirius replied. “Once upon a time, though, it was known as ‘Hufflepuff’s Cup’.”

Albus sat up straighter, his eyes whipping to the thing that he could now recognise, if he squinted and twisted his head just right, had the characteristics of a base and a badly deformed and melted cup.

“You found it?” he asked unnecessarily.

“In the Lestrange vault, just like we guessed,” Sirius confirmed.

“I’m assuming by the fact that it’s been destroyed that it was, in fact, one of Riddle’s horcruxes,” Algeron half-asked, half-stated.

“Yep,” Sirius grinned.

“How’d you destroy it?” Moody asked, his electric blue eye spinning to pin the younger man.

“To be honest, I didn’t,” Sirius replied, rubbing the back of his head in memory.

“Looks pretty destroyed to me,” Moody grunted.

“Perhaps Sirius didn’t destroy it because someone else did,” Albus hypothesised.

“Right in one,” Sirius confirmed. “As soon as the goblins realised that what it was, they poured something into it and the thing melted before exploding. Packed a hell of a wallop.”

“Most likely basilisk venom,” Algeron mused.

“Whatever it was, it worked,” Sirius nodded.

“That’s another one down,” Amelia stated, giving a satisfied nod.

“Indeed. Unfortunately, that exhausts our leads. Unless someone has discovered something since last we met?” Albus asked, looking hopefully around the half-circle of those seated opposite his desk.

After all had shaken their heads, Albus continued.

“Well, we are half-way to our goal. Four horcruxes have now been found and destroyed and only four parts remain.”

“The ring; his familiar, Nagini; something of Ravenclaw’s or Griffindor’s and Riddle himself,” Kingsley summarised.

“Still say that he could have hidden one at one of his grandparents’ houses,” Moody grouched.

“You know my reasonings for why I have discounted those locations,” Albus said lightly and was gratified to see his old friend subside to inaudible mutterings.

“Any news on where Riddle is holed up now?” Sirius asked.

“None,” Amelia replied. “After that incident with the rogue dragon, we know he and his followers were using Riddle Manor in Little Hangleton as a base. As to where the survivors went, it’s anyone’s guess.”

“If that really was a rogue dragon, I’ll eat my wooden leg,” Moody declared. “There’s no way a Welsh Green got so far from its breeding grounds without someone seeing it. No, that dragon was _sent_ there as some kind of … some kind of … _weapon_.”

From the corner of his eye, Albus noted that both Sirius and Harry had gone completely still. _They_ knew something about what happened, but whatever it was, they were keeping quiet. And using legilimency to find out was out of the question.

“And I’d like to shake the hand of the one who sent it,” Moody finished.

-oOoOo-

_Pop!_

_Pop!_

The instant after he arrived, Harry couldn’t help but give himself a quick once over, both visually and by patting himself down. A sigh of relief accompanied his lop-sided grin as he looked over at Sirius.

“All here,” he said.

“You still worried about that one time you left your shorts behind, pup?” Sirius laughed.

“Hey! You promised never to mention that to anyone! And especially not Hermione,” Harry protested.

Sirius took an exaggerated look around the forest clearing before spreading his hands wide.

“I don’t see anyone here but you and me,” he declared.

Harry scowled at him, causing Sirius to give a barking laugh and ruffle his godson’s hair.

“Look, Pup, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” he eventually said. “The last time you didn’t apparate where you intended or without splinching yourself was a couple of weeks ago.”

“Yeah, I know, but it was embarrassing,” Harry protested.

“How about you side-along me to the far side of the clearing to prove to the both of us that you can apparate without splinching or leaving anything behind,” Sirius suggested.

Harry gave him a dubious look. He’d never once had a problem doing side-along apparition; it’d only ever been when he travelled solo. Sirius, though, didn’t seem as if he was going to take ‘no’ for an answer, at least, not with the way he was standing there with his elbow cocked and an expectant look on his face.

With a sigh, Harry took the required couple of steps closer, grabbed Sirius’ elbow, concentrated on the other side of the clearing and turned slightly on one heel, apparating them both as he did so.

_Pop._

“There, happy now?” Harry asked.

“Very,” Sirius beamed. “You’re ready. Let’s go.”

“Go? Go where?” Harry asked, surprised.

Usually his apparition lessons lasted for an hour or two, but so far, Sirius had only had him popping about for less than half an hour.

“The Ministry of Magic, of course,” Sirius replied as though the answer should have been obvious.”

“The Ministry? Why are we going there?” Harry asked.

“Because that’s where the Department of Magical Transportation Office is. Really, Harry, I would have thought that you’d realise that you’d have to go there to get your apparition licence,” Sirius replied with a shake of his head.

“My licence? I’m ready? Are you sure? Have I had enough practice?” Harry rapid-fired.

“You’re channelling your girlfriend again, Harry,” Sirius grinned, shutting the teen up instantly. “And yes, I _know_ you’re ready; wouldn’t suggest it otherwise. In fact, I’m so positive that you’ll pass, that I’ve already set up an appointment with old Twycross _and_ told him that you’ll want to test for side-along as well.”

“There’s a separate licence for that?” Harry asked.

“Sort of. They just make a note of it on the licence that you’re issued,” Sirius replied. “Now, are you coming?”

At Harry’s nod, Sirius stepped closer and grabbed the teen’s arm.

“While I know that you could apparate yourself there, it probably wouldn’t look good for you to turn up at the ministry by apparition before you even sit the test to get your licence.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

“You’re apparating us both home, though,” Sirius stated, before with a slight turn and a _pop_ , the two vanished from the clearing.

-oOoOo-

“Well?” an expectant Hermione asked the instant that Harry walked into the classroom.

In answer, Harry simply held up the slim silver rectangle and grinned.

“Congratulations, Harry!” Hermione near-squealed as she threw herself at him.

“There was never any doubt,” Sirius stated as he slipped into the room past the twirling couple.

The instant that Harry placed Hermione back on her feet, she grabbed at his new apparition licence with a grin before reading it over.

“You even got your side-along licence?” she noted.

“Yep. Nothing to it,” Harry replied.

Sirius’ snort was choked off by the elbow he received in his side.

“I’m sure that there will be time to congratulate Mister Potter later,” Professor McGonagall interjected. “If you will kindly take your places, we have some very important tasks to complete today.”

Within a few short minutes, Harry and Hermione were seated against one wall along with Daphne, Neville and Luna. Spaced throughout the room on individual mats were most of the original Diricawl students – Susan, Hannah, Lil, Tracey, Fiona, Astoria and Colin. And on the very back table, the one that ran the length of the back wall, were eleven cauldrons, seven with a light azure haze spiralling up from each of them, the other four with wisps of gold puffing up at irregular intervals.

“Good afternoon, all,” Professor McGonagall began, speaking to those seated on mats on the floor. “As you are all aware, the end of the school year draws ever closer. Which, considering all of your progress, is most auspicious. Today, the seven of you will partake of your animagus revealing potion to enter a trance to find out what animal you have the potential to become.”

At this announcement, the five fifth years and two fourth years seated on the mats visibly straightened, wide grins on each of their faces.

“At the end of this lesson,” Professor McGonagall continued, “you will be able to begin the second stage of the potion, which will be ready for you in the new school year to drink and to have your very first transformation.

“This, of course, will give you ample time during the holidays to research your animal and to learn everything that you can about it. As your fellow students can attest to, this is vital knowledge that you will need in order to undertake your own transformations independent of the potion.

“If you all will make yourself comfortable, Professor Black and I will bring you each a goblet of your potion.”

Those who had already undergone this step watched on eagerly as the two professors ladled out a small portion of each potion before placing the goblet in front of their students. Almost as soon as each had their potion, they reached out, drank it down in one go and settled back, falling instantly into an unconscious state.

“Well,” Professor McGonagall said with a light clap of her hands to gain the attention of those still awake. “Now for the rest of you. As I am sure you are aware, your own potions are ready, which means that today, you will each undergo your very first transformation. Now, this will be a forced transformation and will only last a short time. But it will help kickstart your body’s knowledge of how to make the change yourself.”

She looked around at the seven students laying in a trance before turning back to the four eager students.

“I think that it might be best to begin with you, Miss Lovegood,” she decided. “As one of the smallest animals, it will be easiest to ensure that there are no unexpected … accidents.”

At once, Luna bounced out of her chair and skipped across to her cauldron. After ladling up a gobletful, she moved back to the front of the room where there was the most space. Suddenly, she stopped and looked around disappointedly at the floor.

“Oh, phooey. There’s no water. I would have liked to go for a swim as a platypus,” she said before upending the goblet and drinking it in one go.

-oOoOo-

Severus dropped heavily into the leather couch in his private quarters, his head falling heavily into his hands as he leant forward.

Really, he was surprised that he wasn’t throwing up, with the day that he’d just had. One hand eventually jerked out, his wand outstretched and his head came up just in time for him to focus upon, and then catch, the bottle of firewhisky.

For a brief moment, he contemplated summoning a glass. A shake of his head later and he pulled the cork and took a long, long drink. As he lowered the bottle a long, loud burp erupted, accompanied by a foot-long gout of flame.

As he slumped backwards on the couch, he eyes landed on the gently simmering potion on the side of his desk. That, at least, was perfect. The exact consistency and colour. Not like the ones that he’d seen earlier that day.

The OWLs and NEWTs were currently in full swing and today happened to be the practical potion examinations. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, Severus had managed to slip into the Great Hall towards the end of the examination. He’d known what the students had been asked to brew.

Having foreknowledge of what it was supposed to be was the only way that he’d know what all of those cauldrons were supposed to hold. Just looking at them, seeing the multitude of colours and steam, would not have told him. From his brief look over the hall, Severus felt that he could safely say that less than a quarter of the potions made would even warrant an Acceptable.

It was enough to drive a man to drink.

That thought immediately brought to mind the bottle in his hand and Severus brought it to his lips and took another long pull, accompanied, of course, by the burp and fire.

If day one of the OWLs and NEWTs started like this, he dreaded the remainder of the examinations. There was literally no hope for the students producing anything good. And _that_ was going to bring both of his masters down on him. He’d been given direct orders: make sure the students passed everything and not only passed but achieved better results overall than that upstart school could.

Severus’ eyes were drawn to his desk. Sitting in the topmost drawer was his letter of resignation. It’d been cathartic writing it; not that he could ever tender it.

Soon, though.

So very _soon_ the brats would be out of here for the holidays and he wouldn’t have to deal with them for two whole months. He couldn’t wait.

Until that very happy day, he intended to get so drunk that the image of those … those … _concoctions_ were erased completely from his memory.

-oOoOo-

Griselda Marchbanks had pulled a few strings, something that’s fairly easy to do when you’re the Head of the Wizarding Examination Authority, and had herself posted to Diricawl Academy for the administration of the OWLs and NEWTs.

And she’d been having the time of her life. It’d been an absolute pleasure this past week, overseeing the various subjects. She’d witnessed some amazing magic and had no doubt that these students would be scoring some of the highest collective marks in a very long time.

Now, though, while she had a bit of down time, she was taking the opportunity to take a peek at one of the other subjects that Diricawl offered, a subject that had no OWL or NEWT equivalent examination.

After turning the handle, she opened the door as quietly as she could before slipping inside and standing against the wall at the very back of the classroom. Well, it wasn’t _quite_ a classroom, just a room inside the Security building.

At the front of the room stood the security goblin, his face a glower, his arms crossed over his chest, an upright dagger clasped in each hand.

And before him stood Harry Potter, speaking in what could only be gobbledegook, but a gobbledegook that she’d never heard a human speak before. It was closer to the goblin language than she’d thought that a human voice was capable of making.

After nearly a quarter of an hour of speech, accompanied by elaborate bows and arm gestures, Mister Potter stopped, gave one final bow and stepped back.

The goblin, Chert, Griselda finally remembered, gave a long hard look at the teen before giving a barely perceptible nod. That was obviously enough, judging by the massive grin that Mister Potter sported when he turned around to re-join the rest of his class.

Once again, Griselda had much to think on. The muggle Diricawl teachers had been a Merlin-send for the revamped Muggle Studies examinations. Now she had to examine the rest of the new subjects that Diricawl offered and see if an OWL or NEWT examination was warranted for each of them.

She never would have guessed that, this close to retirement, that she’d find a new excitement, a new life in her job.

-oOoOo-

Peter’s hand was visibly trembling as he raised it to knock on the closed door before him. The snicker of the guard to his side steeled his resolve, though, and he quickly brought his hand forward. Unfortunately, his knock was tentative, his nervousness clearly showing through in the sound.

And why should it not be? He was late. Days late. And the Master never liked to be kept waiting, especially when it was for something that he deemed important. And this was, even if Peter wasn’t a hundred percent sure why.

“Come,” he heard.

Forcing his hand to cease its tremors, Peter turned the knob and scuttled inside, his head lowered, his hands up to his chest as though to protect himself.

“Peter. You’re late,” Lord Voldemort stated.

“I’m … I’m sorry, my Lord,” he stammered. “I didn’t want to come back without succeeding. It took longer than I thought it would.”

The Dark Lord twirled about, his red eyes boring into Peter’s own. Behind his Lord, Peter could make out a table covered in parchment full of what looked to be runes, not that Peter could understand even one, having never studied the subject. Not even the officious Weasley boy’s constant ramblings about the subject had ever awoken an interest in Peter when he was posing as the boy’s pet.

“You believe that you have completed the task successfully?” the Dark Lord asked.

“Y…yes, my Lord,” he replied.

“You have found a way into the school,” the Dark Lord persisted, “a way that will allow all of us to enter undetected?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Peter repeated.

And then, knowing that it was best to be as honest as possible, he continued.

“There is a … slight complication,” he admitted.

“And what would that be?” Lord Voldemort asked, his red eyes narrowed while he caressed his wand in a none-too-subtle threat.

“We’ll have to do a bit of work at one point to clear a way,” Peter said before quickly rushing on. “It won’t take much for someone of your great power and magical strength.”

The Dark Lord cocked his head slightly at Peter then, considering.

“I want details, Peter. Tell me everything. And you best hope that we can succeed as you claim,” his Master said. “We are dangerously short on time if we want to strike before the students leave for the holiday. If we do succeed, Peter, you shall be honoured beyond all but a few of my followers. Failure, however …”

Peter swallowed nervously, his eyes darting about the room as if seeking a way to escape. Not that he needed one. He was _sure_ that he had the information the Master needed. With that, he began to talk. In some ways, it was comforting to see the evil smile that grew on his Lord’s face. Well, the fact that it wasn’t directed at _him_ , made it comforting.


	31. Chapter 31

A series of apparition _pops_ resounded throughout the small forest clearing. As each black robed, bone-white masked person arrived, they whipped out their wand and pointed it at the dark trees surrounding them, peering as well as they could into the blackness of the night.

By the time that all had finally arrived, the clearing was jammed with bodies, after all, squeezing over a hundred bodies into a small space isn’t easy to do. The fact that no jets of red or green light were dispatched indicated that their arrival had gone unnoticed, unsurprising considering the distance that they were from the small town the other side of the forest and the school in the opposite direction.

A swirl in the black robes indicated that someone was coming through. There was none of the expected grumblings and complainings as bodies shifted into each other, squashing companions behind them before those further away had a chance to move back.

“Well, Peter? Where’s the entrance?” Lord Voldemort asked the small man scurrying in his wake.

“Just here, Master,” the rat-like man said, indicating a thick trunk that had fallen at the edge of the clearing.

To demonstrate his knowledge, Peter quickly stepped forward before tapping his wand on one particular knot of wood.

“ _Dissendium_ ,” he said.

Instantly, a crack in the wood formed, splitting the trunk neatly in two from the knot that Peter had just tapped straight down to the ground. More cracks appeared, two horizontally from the the knot and a further two vertical ones from where the horizontal ones ended. And then, once all of the cracks had finished forming, a pair of doors made from the wood of the trunk swung outwards, a loud _creak_ rending the air as they did so.

Half a dozen wand tips lit up, shining into the newly-formed doorway, showing the very tops of a set of stairs that descended into the earth.

“This passage will take us straight into Hogwarts?” Voldemort confirmed.

“Yes, my Lord,” Peter replied. “There’s only a small section, maybe twenty or thirty feet that’ll need to be fixed where the tunnel collapsed all those years ago.”

“Where does it come out?” Lucius asked.

“The opening is in one of the giant barrels mid-way between the kitchens and the Hufflepuff dorms,” Peter replied.

“And no-one knows about it?” Bellatrix asked as she inched forward towards the tunnel.

“No. It was blocked off when I was still a student here,” Peter replied. “We didn’t bother repairing it since there were other passages out of the castle that we could use.”

“Very well,” Voldemort said, cutting off any more questions, questions that he already knew the answers to, having extensively questioned Peter before deciding upon this part of the plan. “I will go first and clear the blockage for the rest of you. You all know your assignments. Do not fail me.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

The acknowledgement sounded from dozens of eager voices.

“My Lord,” Bellatrix interrupted just as Voldemort took his first step into the trunk.

She paused then, waiting for her master to turn and affix his red eyes onto her before continuing.

“Should we alert Snape? He could clear the passage from the other end and make your task that much easier,” she suggested.

Voldemort paused, giving the matter some thought.

“No,” he finally decided. “We shall leave Severus as our ‘asp in the hole’, just in case some unexpected back-up is needed.”

Bellatrix inclined her head in acknowledgement, but only long enough for her master to see. The instant that the Dark Lord’s tall figure disappeared into the opening, she followed, eager for what was to come.

Bellatrix may have been the first into the tunnel after their master, but she wasn’t the last, not by a long shot. After Peter and Lucius had entered, a long line of figures in black cloaks filed in, their wandtips already alight as they descended into complete darkness. It took a long time for the clearing to empty of more than a hundred bodies, but finally, the last of them, Amycus Carrow entered, closing the entrance behind them.

 It took over twenty minutes of solid walking down the narrow dirt-lined passageway before the tunnel abruptly ended. Lord Voldemort had managed to develop a nasty crick in his neck, having had to keep his head perpetually bent during the entire walk due to the low ceiling.

But a small amount of pain was easily ignored, especially when he was so very close to succeeding in a plan that he’d had for months now. Besides, he was sure that either Bella or one of the seventh-year girls would be more than willing to massage his head, neck and shoulders after he was in control.

In the light of the many wands shining past him, Voldemort studied the collapse in the tunnel. There looked to be a goodly amount of stone mixed in with the dirt, stone which would be eminently useful. The fact that the tunnel had been dead straight the entire time helped him know which way the restored tunnel that he was about to create needed to go in order to re-join its far end.

Finally, when he was sure that he knew what needed to be done, Voldemort lifted his wand and began waving it as the conductor of a symphony would move his baton. The wand movements were repetitive, each morphing fluidly into the next as he vanished the dirt, transfigured the stone and had it placed up from the floor and across the ceiling in a great arch that would ensure that the dirt wouldn’t fall on their heads as they passed.

As he began his movements once more, Voldemort began slowing stepping forward, moving down the newly reformed tunnel. It wasn’t a difficult task, but the constant use of magic, step after step after step, was draining. When sweat began forming on his brow and in the middle of his back, he added in a new part of his symphony – a wandless banishing charm for the sweat and a mild cooling charm to regulate his temperature.

The notion of stopping briefly occurred, but was quickly dismissed. No amount of dirt and rock was going to stop what he had planned.

And then suddenly, almost unexpectedly, the vanishing dirt revealed a dark empty space and a wave of noxious gases. A quick _bubble-head_ charm took care of the smell even as Voldemort finished his self-appointed task.

As he finally brought his wand to a stop, he noticed the many air-freshening spells whipping past, a fact that allowed him to drop his _bubble-head_.

A simple hand held out in Peter’s general direction had two flasks placed in his palm – a simple pepper-up potion and one filled with elf-made fruit juice.

“We shall rest here momentarily,” Voldemort instructed his followers after downing the two liquids. “Peter, how much further?”

“Not far, Master; perhaps as little as a ten-minute walk,” Peter replied.

“Very good,” Voldemort replied.

Their rest was short, mostly due to the heightened sense of anticipation running through Voldemort’s veins. Whether it was due to Peter’s accuracy or Voldemort’s longer strides the closer they came to the entrance to the school, the steps leading up the last section quickly appeared.

There, Voldemort paused and looked back over the sea of lit wands stretching back through the tunnel.

“You all know your assignments. Complete them as quickly and as thoroughly as possible. We will meet in the Great Hall,” he stated.

-oOoOo-

The noise of many footsteps passing by brought Pomona Sprout’s head up.

It’d been a long, long session in her beloved Greenhouse Five but it had been well worth it. Her plants in there were now ready for the coming summer season. The fact that it’d taken well over half the night to prepare the more temperamental ones had left her tired and more than a little sore. Thus, until the unexpected sound had registered, she’d been trudging slowly and heavily back towards her quarters.

The passage that she was in wasn’t so much a secret as more of a well-forgotten path. This passageway wound its way from near the Hufflepuff dorms and her own office through the castle before emerging behind a statue in a courtyard that led directly to the greenhouses. But what made this passageway particularly interesting was that its entrance inside the castle wasn’t guarded by a portrait or a statute, nor was there a trick stone to press or a lever to pull.

No, in this instance, the entrance was simply a wall that wasn’t, no more substantial than air for anyone to walk straight through. From the corridor, it couldn’t be seen. But from inside the hidden passage, one could look out through the ‘wall’ as though it wasn’t there. Which it wasn’t. Except it was. More than once Pomona had given herself a headache trying to figure out the magic of it.

The important thing right now was that Pomona was able to look out into the corridor and see a multitude of bodies hurrying past. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of these shrouded figures. All were tall and broad shouldered, much more so than any student in the castle. The fact that there were so many of them immediately discounted the fact that they could be teachers.

And then there was the manner of their dress: complete black robes, without a hint of red, blue, green or yellow that Hogwarts’ robes would have on them.

Then, as one turned their head slightly allowing her to see their face, she gasped, her eyes bugging out and her hands clutching her chest. Bone white masks. Each and every one of these people were wearing black robes and bone white masks.

_Death Eaters._

There was no doubt. And judging by the numbers streaming past her hiding place, it was clear that the castle was being overrun.

Instantly, Pomona’s wand was in her hand and she took half a step forward before her common sense asserted itself.

She’d be no good to the children rushing out there and getting herself killed. She knew that she was no match for any of them – her talents lay with plants, not with her wand skills.

The sound of screams coming from her beloved Hufflepuff dorms hardened her face and whitened her knuckles as she gripped her wand.

However they got in was irrelevant. What mattered was that they were going after the students. And if they were going after the students first, then the castle would be theirs. No teacher, and especially not Albus, would dare to do anything that might endanger the children.

And that led Pomona to her next realisation.

If the teachers wouldn’t do anything that could lead to the children being harmed, then neither would those outside the castle. With the children and castle as hostage, the parents, the adults, the Ministry would be effectively hamstrung.

Voldemort would have won without having to face a single raised wand. He’d have control of the entire country. Every single witch and wizard, pureblood, half-blood and muggleborn.

The muggleborns, Pomona realised, would be especially hard hit. Their parents would be expecting them home from the train soon, a train that she suspected would never arrive. What would they do with their children not returning home. The muggle parents would have no way of knowing what was happening, what had happened.

And then September first next year, a new group of muggleborns would be arriving at King’s Cross. A group not knowing what they were about to walk into.

Pomona knew that there might not be anything that she could do to stop the children here from becoming hostages for Voldemort, but there was definitely something that she could do for the muggleborn children not yet of Hogwarts’ age.

On feet that barely seemed to brush the ground, Pomona crept forward, waiting for the Death Eaters to pass. As soon as the last had done so, she slipped out, bustling in the opposite direction as quickly as she could.

Using the knowledge of the castle that she’d gained in the past couple of decades of working there, she utilised every secret passageway that she knew of to climb the three levels to Minerva’s old quarters.

Seeing that the coast was clear, she ducked across the last corridor and slipped inside. A sigh of relief escaped her at the sight of the thick tome and great eagle feathered quill sitting beside an ink bottle of never-ending green ink.

“Lizzie!” she called.

A _pop_ signalled the arrival of a small house-elf.

“Lizzie. I want you to take these things to Minerva McGonagall,” she stated, handing the elf the book, quill and ink bottle. “Give them to no one else. Tell Minerva that Hogwarts is lost, overrun by Death Eaters.”

“Yes, Mistress Sprout,” the elf replied.

“Quickly, now. Off you go,” Pomona instructed.

Barely had the sound of the elf popping away disappeared before the door behind her was slammed open.

“What have we here?” a gruff voice demanded.

The eyes behind the mask searched the desk before snapping back to her.

“Where’s the book?” he demanded.

Pomona pulled her small frame as upright as she could and raised her wand. The Death Eater, though, had other ideas.

“ _Crucio!”_

The pain that erupted throughout her body ripped a scream from her throat. By the time the curse had finally been lifted, Pomona’s throat was raw and her voice was nearly non-existent. Tears streamed from her eyes even as each of her limbs jerked and spasmed uncontrollably.

“I should kill you where you lay,” the Death Eater stated. “But the Master will want to know what you did with the book. I’m sure that by the time he’s finished with you, you’ll be begging to tell him.”

A flick of the man’s wand lifted her body from the floor and she was floated out of the room. Pomona could only sob, thick tears splashing their way to the floor. This, she knew, was likely to be her last night alive. She took what small comfort she could in the knowledge that she’d protected at least some of those who couldn’t protect themselves.

-oOoOo-

“What’s going on?”

“Where are the professors?”

“Who are they?”

“Why are we being forced out after curfew?”

“ _Death Eaters!”_

This last was hissed up and down the mass of students that were forced from their common rooms and towards the Great Hall. Streams of pyjamas-clad students descended from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor towers. A mob of students emerged from the Hufflepuff dorms, many clinging together so as not to lose friends or family. A more orderly line ascended from the Slytherin dungeons, but if one looked close enough, there were signs that they, too, were confused, concerned and frightened.

And herding all of these streams of students were the masked Death Eaters, cackling and taunting the terrified children. Stinging hexes erupted painfully against any that were considered too slow or not in their allotted place.

Groups of three Death Eaters surrounded each professor as they were forced from their private room, their doors left hanging or in splinters. Wands had been confiscated. Blood dripped from more than one. Aurora Sinistra hobbled along, reaching out to support herself on the walls or banisters as the foot that was turned the wrong way was dragged along as best she could. Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies Professor, sported innumerable cuts all throughout her body, her nightclothes in tatters as she did what little she could to maintain her dignity.

Finally, when every student had been herded into the Great Hall, they were forced to their House tables. The teachers were shoved to their knees in a line facing the platform that held the staff table, the last of them, Pomona Sprout, having been dropped from where she was being levitated to the hard stone floor five feet below.

The Death Eaters roamed among them all, causing countless students to shy away and cry and huddle together while the teachers simply looked defeated, their heads hung low.

It was easy to see that all housed in the castle were assembled, all that is, except for Headmaster Dumbledore, Voldemort and his top lieutenants.

-oOoOo-

The _caterwauling_ charm that erupted throughout the Headmaster’s Office and chambers caused Albus Dumbledore to shoot up in bed, his wand flying from his bedside table to his outstretched hand.

His blue eyes blinked profusely as he assessed his chambers for signs of danger, for that was the only reason that that particular charm would sound; if the Headmaster of Hogwarts was in imminent peril.

Not seeing anything, he rose and, still in his deep midnight blue bed-robes and matching sleeping cap, padded into his office. This room, too, was devoid of any danger. Lowering his wand, Albus strode across the room to the small spindly table filled with silver instruments, searching for the correct one to tell him why the ear-piercing alarm had sounded, not to mention to turn the thing off before he developed any more of a headache than it had already given him.

He was still mid-stride when the ancient oak door to his office exploded inwards, splinters of wood and dust rocketing across the room.

Albus barely had time to raise his wand, a shield charm already forming before half a dozen black-robed figures rushed into the room.

As the hail of curses began inundating him, everything from deep red to orange to yellow to blue – but surprisingly, no green – Albus weaved his wand in an intricate pattern, alternating between shielding from the spells with the correct charm to transfiguring books, couches and tables into a myriad of counterattacking strikes. Numerous other books were sacrificed to the cause, exploding as they intercepted the spells headed for him.

It was while he was distracted with the initial half-dozen intruders that a seventh figure slipped into room. This one, while not hiding his presence, did nothing to announce it either. It was simply the fact that this person was bare-faced and bald, with intense red eyes that caught Albus’ attention.

“Tom,” he greeted, even as he fended off the latest attack.

“Surrender, Dumbledore, you have no hope here,” Riddle replied.

Albus’ eyes darted about the room, assessing, trying to find the way clear. But in the cramped, confined quarters, the attackers with their superior numbers definitely held the advantage.

And then Riddle himself joined the attack.

It was all that Albus could do to shield himself. No longer was he able to spend the time to subdue his foes. Ever so slowly, he was being herded back. Only an elaborate twirl saved him from being pinned against his desk

But that twirl was enough for him to lose track of one of the spells and a dark, inky blue spell caught his wand, exploding the top third, leaving nothing but a burnt stick in its wake.

“Fawkes!” Albus called.

Instantly, the phoenix took flight, but it was a flight that was doomed to failure. There were simply far too many spells between the phoenix and his wizard. Even as Fawkes dodged and weaved, four spells hit Albus in quick succession.

What surprised the old Headmaster was the fact that none of them were killing curses. Instead, all were designed to restrain him. With his body wrapped in magical ropes and chains, Albus toppled backwards, painfully falling into one of his many small tables, destroying it and sending a splinter of wood into his side.

“Fawkes! The box!” Albus gasped. “Take it to him.”

Instantly, the phoenix changed direction, a fact that the Death Eaters and Riddle hadn’t counted on. Their spells went astray, giving the phoenix just enough time to alight on a large box, his talons piercing it before bird and box disappeared in a flash of fire.

“Your time has come, Dumbledore,” Riddle said, having crossed the room to stand towering over the fallen wizard. “Time to face your reckoning. Time to face your _end_!”

-oOoOo-

Lord Voldemort strode in through the great doors of the Hogwarts Great Hall as if he was a conquering hero, a state of fact that wasn’t far from the truth.

Behind him shuffled Albus Dumbledore.

The old fool was in no state to challenge anybody. His upper body was encased in magical ropes. Hidden under those ropes were the pair of magical suppression cuffs on _each_ hand. And, just to be sure, additional cuffs had been placed around each ankle and one around his neck. Surrounding the defeated old man were a phalanx of Death Eaters – Bellatrix, Rudolphus and Rabastian Lestrange, Lucius, Dolohov and Yaxley – each with their wands trained on their prisoner.

At the sight of the prisoner, not to mention of Lord Voldemort himself, a collective gasp rose from the four long House tables, sobs and cries mixed in. It was enough to bring a smile to the Dark Lord’s face.

At his direction, his six lieutenants pushed and prodded Dumbledore down the centre aisle before forcing the old man up to his golden ‘throne’ – Voldemort, after all, wanted to make sure that what he had planned was seen by all.

Voldemort stood himself on the platform, looking out at the occupants of the Hall. Everyone and everything was just as he’d imagined it. The students were cowering together where they sat at the tables, their eyes turned up towards him in fear. The staff knelt before him, their heads bowed in defeat. Some were bloodied, two twitched, obviously from the effects of the _cruciatus_. And then there were his Death Eaters, roaming among them all, their smiles of triumph only hidden by their bone masks.

Voldemort strode to one side of the platform before slowing walking to the other side, taking it all in. He stopped just in front of the professor on the end of the line, his greasy black hair hanging in limp strands from his head.

“Severus,” he said.

“Yes, my Lord,” the potions master replied, his eyes rising briefly to meet the Dark Lord’s own.

“Rise and join your brethren,” Voldemort stated.

As Snape complied, there were gasps and hisses all throughout the hall, but especially from the man’s fellow staff members.

“The Ward Stone, Severus. You know where it is?” Voldemort asked.

“Of course, my Lord,” Snape replied.

“Excellent. Lucius, Dolohov, Carruthers, go with Severus. Upgrade the wards the way that I showed you,” he instructed.

Instantly, the four men bowed before quick-stepping from the room.

“My Death Eaters, you have done well. The castle, this ancient fortress is ours,” Voldemort smiled. “I trust that there were no problems?”

Surprisingly, one man stepped forward before bowing low, his face pointed to the ancient flagstones even as he gave his report.

“My Lord. I did not retrieve the book. The Herbology professor did something with it. She refuses to tell me where it is.”

Voldemort’s eyes turned slowly to focus upon the chubby woman in the brown and green robes and witch’s hat.

“The book. Where is it?” he asked softly.

Almost unwillingly, the professor, Sprout, he thought her name was, looked up. That instant was all Voldemort needed. In an instant, he delved into her mind, whipping back the green, searching for the memory of the book. And then he found it. He watched, seething as he saw it taken from his grasp.

“ _Avada kedavra_!”

The jet of green engulfed the woman who slowly toppled over. Screams rent the air, particularly from the Hufflepuff table.

“Now you know the fate of all who defy me,” Voldemort stated.

In the ensuring silence, he stared over the students, ensuring that they knew, that they understood. Briefly, he considered having her body removed, but ultimately decided that the visual reminder would benefit them more.

Slowly, almost casually, he moved across the platform before stopping four professors’ down.

“Sybill Trelawney,” he said, slowly, eloquently. “Long have I wanted to meet you. Only the old fool there has kept you from me, hiding you away here in the castle. No longer. Now we have all the time in the world for you to tell me exactly what I want to know.

“Macnair, Rookwood. Take the _professor_ to one of the dungeon cells,” he instructed. “Lock her in. But make sure that she can’t hurt herself or that anyone else can hurt her. I’ll deal with her at my leisure.”

The two men strode forth before, with a glance at each other, they gripped the woman under one arm each and hauled her upright. Then, the two frog-marched her out of the Hall, the old woman only occasionally glancing back, even as a number of girls began to cry and wail hysterically. A single hand wave was enough for some of his men to shoot the girls in the back with a stunner. The brief reprieve of noise was almost enough to make Voldemort sigh.

“Now, what else do we have here that needs to be taken care of immediately, hmm?” Voldemort mused as he paced up and down the platform in front of the professors.

“You. What do you teach?” he asked one woman abruptly.

“M…Mug…Muggle … Muggle Studies,” the woman stammered.

“That’s what I thought,” Voldemort replied. “Well, I see no reason to keep you around. Why anyone would want to know about muggles is beyond me. Nagini!”

Screams and the scrape of the wooden benches moving as the children attempted to escape from the gigantic snake that they hadn’t noticed slither in against the walls erupted as Nagini came out of the shadows.

“Nagini, dinner,” Voldemort stated, indicating the woman in front of him.

He didn’t bother staying still to watch as the snake increased its pace before momentarily moving back before striking forward, its mouth extended. The fangs clasped onto Charity Burbage’s neck, poison instantly being pumped in. As Nagini held on, her body began coiling around the body, sharp snaps resounding in the Hall as the woman’s bones snapped.

“What have we here?” Voldemort asked. “A squib and his cat. Peter?”

As the animagus shuffled forward, Voldemort looked up at him, the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile.

“As a part of your reward for making this possible, I shall allow you to fire this man and his cat from the castle,” Voldemort stated.

“Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord,” Peter replied, fingering his wand.

With a swish and a flick, the petrified man and cat were levitated up before they were taken from the Hall; Peter nearly skipping in pleasure.

“For now, the rest of you could prove useful,” Voldemort stated. “Well, all of you except for one. Bellatrix?”

Immediately, the only unmasked Death Eater bounded over to her Master, a small box appearing in her hands which she presented to him, holding out on her palms.

There was one more thing to do, though, before Voldemort opened the box – he had to prepare the subject.

A twirl and jab of his wand vanished the ropes surrounding Dumbledore. A second movement changed the elegant deep blue robes into sackcloth. A third twirl vanished all of the man’s clothing except for a strip of loincloth about his middle. And a last stuck the man to the chair where he sat.

“I could kill you where you sit, Dumbledore,” Voldemort told the man. “But no matter how I killed you, death would come far too quickly. No, I want you to suffer. So, I’m going to take away those things that you cherish the most, starting with your persona. You have always prided yourself on your visage of the ancient, wise warlock, the grandfather who knows what’s best. Let’s destroy that image. The removal of your gaudy clothing is a start.”

A vicious swish of his wand sheared of half of Dumbledore’s great white beard. A second cut off most of the rest. And then a smaller, complicated movement saw the ancient man shaved. What remained of his whiskers disappeared inch by inch. Then his moustache was shaved off. But the charm didn’t stop there. No, every single hair on Dumbledore’s head was eradicated until the old man was left completely bald. Bald and wrinkly.

Voldemort cocked his head at the man before him. Without that head of white, the man was almost unrecognisable.

“If you ever see Potter, Black, Bones and their ilk again, you really must thank them for what is coming next,” Voldemort told the old man. “You see, it is a well-known fact that you are one of the most powerful warlocks in the country, second only to myself, of course. And this is another thing that you pride yourself on. It is time to take that away from you.

“After hearing about that magic-suppressing room at that _school_ , I attempted to replicate it. And I succeeded. Now, I’m going to show you exactly how it is done, after all, this is a school. Oh, and I’m sure that you’ll like this bit. I’m going to carve it into your very skin, forever suppressing every facet of your magic.”

Finally, Voldemort opened the box that lay on Bellatrix’s still outstretched hands. Inside was a dagger made of the darkest black obsidian with hints of deep red veins running through it.

“This is a cursed dagger,” Voldemort stated as he caressed the handle. “Wounds made from this cannot be healed by any means, muggle or magic. The perfect instrument to carve those runes into your body with.”

Then, after picking up the dagger, he crossed to where the old man was now sitting bound to his chair by a sticking charm; the ropes, after all, would only get in the way.

“Oh, this might sting a bit,” Voldemort stated lightly.

Dumbledore’s screams as the dagger cut into his chest proved that Voldemort might have understated things just a bit.

-oOoOo-

Peter Pettigrew was having the time of his life. He’d been given a task by the Master, one which he simply couldn’t stuff up. And all because his plan to get the Master and the other Death Eaters into the castle had been a resounding success. And this, Peter knew, was only the beginning. The Dark Lord had promised that he would be elevated, that wondrous things would be showered upon him.

“I’m not sure exactly what the Dark Lord had in mind when he told me to fire you from the castle,” Peter was telling the petrified squib now standing on the edge of the battlements atop the Astronomy Tower, his likewise petrified cat next to him.

“You see, there’s the muggle meaning and the more literal meaning,” Peter continued. “For the muggles, getting ‘fired’ means that you’re out of a job and have to leave the building. But more literally, firing involves, well, fire. And I’m not one to get things wrong, so I thought that it was best to do both.”

Even in his petrified state, the squib’s eyes went slight wider and even more panicky than they already were.

“ _Incendio!_ ” Peter intoned, instantly setting Filch and Mrs Norris alight.

The smell of burning hair was incredible and Peter quickly used his sleeve to cover his nose.

“ _Depulo!_ ” he quickly cast.

The banishing spell launched the two backwards from the tower where they began to fall, almost in slow motion, in a great fiery arc towards the ground sixty metres below.

Job done, Peter turned and made his way towards the door, he didn’t want to miss whatever fun that the Dark Lord had planned next.

-oOoOo-

By the time that Voldemort carved the very last rune into the old man’s body, Dumbledore was slumped in his chair, or at least, as slumped as the sticking charm would allow. Rivers of blood had run from the man’s body, coating his chest, arms and thighs, not to mention the chair itself and the floor around it, in the thick, dark red liquid.

The magic-suppressing runic array, though, was complete. Runes covered every inch of the old man’s chest, arms, wrists, stomach and thighs. With this array in place and activated, magic would forever be denied to Dumbledore. Oh, he’d be able to feel it inside of himself, but he’d never be able to channel it, to harness it in order to use a wand or to perform wandless magic.

“ _Evanesco!_ ” Voldemort intoned, vanishing the majority of the blood.

Then, after looking his handiwork over, he smiled.

“Much better,” he said. “And we have no need of these any more do we?”

So saying, Voldemort removed the seven magic-suppression cuffs from Dumbledore’s body. The fact that the old man barely moved during it made the Dark Lord even happier.

“Now, Dumbledore, we have removed your vanity and your magic,” he said. “I believe that that only leaves one last thing to take care of before you are cast forever from the magical world: your knowledge. As a teacher, you love nothing more than to impart your wisdom and knowledge; taking away your magic will not stop you from teaching others what you know. And that is something that we cannot have.

“So, while you are weak from blood loss and the loss of your magic, I am going to have a little fun in your mind. I will lock away your communication skills. No longer will you be able to impart your knowledge in any form – verbal, written or even mentally. That part of you will be gone forever. You will, of course, still know it all, you simply will not be able to impart any of it to anyone else.”

And then, before Dumbledore could do anything, Voldemort grabbed a hold of Dumbledore’s head with both hands, pulled it up and met the man eye to eye. Red met blue in a matter of wills, a battle that blue quickly lost. The two stayed locked together like that for the better part of ten minutes. Sweat dripped from the heads of both, but eye contact was not broken.

Finally, Voldemort dropped his hands, letting the ancient head loll forward. He took a moment before throwing back his own head and laughing. It was a long laugh, a chilling laugh, a laugh of victory.

Eventually, the Dark Lord regained his composure and gave a simple swipe of his wand.

“It’s done,” he stated. “The old man is nothing; nothing but a mind trapped forever within itself. Take him. Take him and drop him off in the middle of London somewhere. Somewhere where he can spend the rest of his days drooling and babbling nonsense as he struggles to find food, clothing and shelter.”

The Lestrange brothers strode forth, picked up the old man between them and dragged him from his golden throne, off of the platform and up the aisle between the tables.

“Rudolphus!” Voldemort called just before they left the Hall.

“Yes, my Lord?” Rudophus replied.

“Sear his tongue from his head, will you? Just for good measure, of course,” Voldemort instructed.

“As you wish, my Lord,” Rudolphus grinned.


	32. Chapter 32

As had become tradition over the past hundred years or so, Platform Nine and Three Quarters of King’s Cross Station was crowded with parents awaiting the return of their children from their year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Everywhere one looked, groups of adults mingled, catching up and gossiping with the friends that they saw only once or twice a year and reminiscing about their own Hogwarts’ days. And darting in and out around their legs were the next generation, those still too young to go to the castle filling the platform and the time with their boisterous antics.

A shrill whistle caused all those on the platform to pause, their heads swivelling automatically towards the direction that the great scarlet steam engine always came from. Bodies, both parental and young, shuffled forward, eager to get their first glimpse of the train.

And then it was there, emerging from a great cloud of steam. Hands raised and began waving; small bodies were jumping up and down, all trying to see in the windows.

But unlike every other year, there were no bodies hanging out of windows waving back or calling to parents, relations and siblings. A confused susurration swept the platform as the lack of students on the train became apparent.

Finally, with a massive _hiss_ the Hogwarts express stilled, its journey for another year over. It was then that the mystery of the missing children was solved by an announcement that resonated from every single carriage at once. The voice spoke softly, elegantly, its magnitude only created by the way that it echoed from the train and around the platform.

“HOGWARTS IS NO MORE!”

The pre-charmed voice must have expected a reaction from the crowd, for it paused then, allowing the screams, cries and general panic to permeate throughout the platform as parents clutched at each other, horror on their faces and anguished screams ripped from them.

“HOGWARTS IS NO MORE,” the voice repeated, instantly quietening the crowd. “IN ITS PLACE STANDS CASTLE VOLDEMORT! MAGICAL BLOOD HAS BEEN SPILLED AND ALBUS DUMBLEDORE IS NO MORE.

“HAVE NO FEAR, THOUGH, FOR YOUR PRECIOUS CHILDREN WILL BE WELL-CARED FOR AND EDUCATED. EACH AND EVERY MAGICAL CHILD SHALL REMAIN AT CASTLE VOLDEMORT YEAR-ROUND, LEARNING WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A CHILD OF MAGIC.

“WITH YOUR CHILDREN UNDER MY CARE, I, LORD VOLDEMORT, URGE MAGICAL BRITAIN TO SURRENDER. SURRENDER YOUR MINISTRY. SURRENDER THOSE WHO OPPOSE THE NEW ORDER OF MAGICAL BRITAIN AND MY BENEVOLENT RULE.

“MOODY, BLACK, LONGBOTTOM, BONES, GREENGRASS, POTTER AND THEIR ILK SHOULD BE HANDED OVER TO ME. EACH AND EVERY DAY THAT THEY REMAIN AT LARGE WILL BE ANOTHER DAY WHEN MY … DISPLEASURE WILL BE TAKEN OUT ON THE INNOCENT.

“TWENTY-FOUR HOURS FROM NOW, MY DELEGATION WILL ENTER THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC. AT THAT TIME, THE MINISTRY AND ALL OF ITS EMPLOYEES WILL BOW THEIR KNEES TO ME.

“FOR I, LORD VOLDEMORT, THE RULER OF MAGICAL BRITAIN, HAVE DECLARED IT TO BE SO.”

Dozens of pops of apparition sounded throughout he platform as parents grabbed their youngest and fled the ominous message. Before long, all that was left were only those who were now lying prone, having fainted during the dire announcement, and those who had stayed to tend to them.

-oOoOo-

Petunia Dursley huddled in the corner of her little office, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible while still being in a position to hear what was happening.

The crowd that had gathered, not only in her domain, but in the Entrance Hall which offered even more space, had come at her insistence. She’d been listening to her tunes on the Wizarding Wireless Network as she finished up some of the last of the filing that needed to be done with the end of the school year when the song had been interrupted.

She’d looked up with a frown, an action that would have surprised her not that long ago – the fact that she’d come to enjoy the oddly worded songs not something that she’d ever thought that was possible. The announcement that came over the wireless was horrifying.

Apparently, the Hogwarts Express had returned from the ancient castle cum school devoid of students. In their place had come a bone-chilling message, a message that the evil wizard attacking the magicals and non-magicals throughout the country, had taken over the school and was holding the children there hostage.

Petunia’s limited knowledge of Hogwarts was mostly decades old, harking back to the snippets that she’d overheard Lily telling their parents after she’d come home from nearly a year away. Knowing the importance of what she was hearing, Petunia had dashed off to find the closest staff – Minerva and Remus, both of whom who were in their offices just down the corridor.

She’d barely managed to get them to understand what she’d heard when their wands were in their hands and wisps of white ghost-like animals were sprinting away through the walls. The three had then rushed back to the wireless to listen to the announcements. With each passing minute, more and more of the staff and even some of the remaining students, had gathered.

Petunia could only watch as understanding dawned on each of their faces before morphing into either horror, anger, grief or one of the other myriad expressions that the announcements warranted. Many sunk into the nearest chair or just fell heavily to the floor.

“ _We now cross to the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic where Minster Umbridge is preparing to address the populace,”_ the announcer said.

“ _Hem hem,”_ a high girly voice began, “ _My fellow witches and wizards of Magical Britain. As I am sure that you are all aware, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was taken over by the Dark Lord, with all of the inhabitants of the castle – the entirety of the students and staff – coming under his authority._

_“The Dark Lord’s requests are very clear and straightforward: in order to avoid the spillage of any more magical blood, he has asked that certain members of our society be turned over to him. It is a well-known fact exactly where the majority of these people can be found: Diricawl Academy of Magical Studies._

_“I urge the people named to come forth, to show your regard for the greater magical society and to turn yourself in to the Dark Lord. As my last act as Minister for Magic, I order those named – Alastor Moody; Sirius Black; Augusta Longbottom; Amelia Bones; Cyrus Greengrass and Harry Potter to be present in the Ministry of Magic’s Atrium at the time that the Dark Lord’s delegation arrives here. Failure to do so will result in you being charged with treason and a Kiss on Sight order will be signed for each and every one of you._

_“I also, from this date and time onwards, declare Diricawl Academy of Magical Studies to no longer be a school and that its buildings and land have been seized by the Ministry of Magic. Any persons found at that location when the aurors arrive will be arrested and sentenced to jail._

_“As I am sure that you heard, my fellow witches and wizards, those decrees are my last acts as your Minister for Magic. I hereby resign from my post in favour of the person that the Dark Lord deems best suited for the position. It has been my pleasure serving you all._

_“Thank you.”_

A fierce jab at the wireless by Minerva’s wand turned the volume right down before she let off a small cannon-blast, effectively silencing the uproar that had erupted at Umbridge’s speech.

“May I assume that none of you are interested in turning yourself in to the Ministry?” Minerva asked dryly.

“Not bloody likely,” Sirius snorted.

“A vulgar but accurate statement,” Augusta agreed.

“Ynys Crochenydd is Potter land,” Harry stated fiercely. “Always has been, always will be. The Ministry can go stuff themselves.”

“Have any of the students left yet?” Minerva asked.

“Not yet,” Remus replied with a shake of his head. “There are a few scheduled to leave after dinner, the rest not until tomorrow morning.”

“Unless we want to have our kids in the same position as the parents of the Hogwarts students, we should probably see if we can get the parents of our kids here,” Filius stated. “I would not put You-Know-Who past the concept of holding the parents hostage to entice our students out from under our wards.”

“A very good suggestion,” Minerva agreed. “Sirius, Remus, if you could see what you can manage? This sounds like something your twisted Marauder minds could put to good use.”

“Oi! We resemble that remark,” a pair of tall red-heads said from the back of the crowd.

Sirius and Remus only spared each other a quick glance before nodding simultaneously.

“We could use your help, boys,” Sirius said before turning to the two men standing alongside him. “Sorry, Dan, Mike, I think you guys would be best off staying here. Without the added advantage of magic, things could get a bit dangerous.”

“Don’t worry, Sirius, we’ll find something useful to do,” Mike said, clapping him on the back.

“Yeah, like making sure that the Security Wing is in lockdown while you’re out,” Dan added.

“Don’t bother. Already done it,” Mad-Eye Moody grunted as he stomped in through the doors. “Made that goblin of yours do it as soon as I got here. Mind you, I think he was planning on doing it anyway after that bleeding elf arrived.”

“Elf? What elf?” Minerva asked.

Her question was answered by Chert as he arrived pushing a bound house elf along with the butt of his axe.

“This elf claims to have something for ya, Headmistress,” Chert growled. “It’s here against my better judgement.”

“No, it’s here because of mine,” Mad-Eye stated. “That’s a Hogwarts house-elf.”

Minerva stepped forward.

“Is that correct? Are you a Hogwarts elf?” she asked.

“Yes, Mistress. I be Lizzie,” the elf replied with as much of a curtsy as she could manage with the chains wrapped around her.

“Why are you here, Lizzie?” Minerva asked.

“Mistress Sprout ordered that Lizzie be bringing Mistress McGonagall the special book,” Lizzie replied.

“Chert, please release her,” Minerva asked.

Grumbling the entire time, the goblin complied.

“Now, what book did Pomona ask you to bring me?” Minerva asked once the elf was no longer bound.

With a snap of her fingers, Lizzie produced a massive leather-bound book with an elegant green-feathered quill and bottle of ink and floated it across to the Headmistress.

“Oh my,” Minerva breathed as she stared wide-eyed at the items that had come to rest in her hands.

“Is that what I think it is?” Filius asked.

“The Muggle-born register,” Minerva nodded. “The Hogwarts Founders tied this book into wards that they placed all over Britain. It detects underage magical children and is used to send the students their Hogwarts’ letters.”

“Doesn’t the Ministry have something like that?” Harry asked. “I mean, they’ve got a department dedicated to detecting underage magic.”

“Not like this,” Minerva replied. “The Ministry’s detector is tied into the Trace which is applied to wands when they are first purchased by underage wizards and witches. They cannot detect precisely who does magic without the Trace informing them.”

A flash of flame high above their heads interrupted the lecture before it could go any further. As heads swivelled upwards, they were accompanied by sounds of awe directed at the magnificent red-gold bird the size of a turkey hovering there, wisps of flame alighting from his wings.

“Fawkes!” Harry cried happily.

Hearing his name, the phoenix swooped down before hovering just above Harry’s head, a big box held in his talons. Fawkes’ meaning was clear and Harry hastily lifted his arm to catch the box just before it was released. Then, task completed, Fawkes let himself drop, twisting around to land gracefully on Harry’s shoulder.

“I’ll take that, lad,” Moody stated, taking the box from him. “We both know what’s in it and how important it is.”

“If Fawkes is here and not at Dumbledore’s side, I fear that the castle has really fallen,” Minerva stated sadly.

“But how could it? I thought that it was supposed to be the ‘safest place in Britain’!” Hermione protested.

“Once upon a time, it was,” Filius replied, his magical chair bobbing slightly as it hovered in mid-air. “But the wards had been allowed to degrade somewhat over the past few decades.”

“And Dumbledore never upgraded them?” Augusta added. “As Headmaster it was his responsibility to do so.”

“Albus always was a mite cocky,” Moody grumbled, shaking his head. “The number of times I urged him to add anti-Dark Mark wards like this place has got is more than I can count. The old coot simply waved it off every time, saying some bleeding thing about how Hogwarts’ wards had never been breached before.”

“Well that’s not something that anyone can say anymore,” Harry stated grimly.

“But what’s going to happen to the children still in the castle?” Emma asked, a question that Petunia and Susan both nodded to.

Dark looks were shared among all of the magical adults – each of them knew exactly what Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters were capable of, having lived through the last war.

“No! No, I refuse to believe that there’s nothing that can be done,” Harry stated forcefully. “We’ve spent the past year building this place and enjoying the school. We’ve learnt so much. But all of that’s worthless if others are being held hostage or tortured or worse.”

He looked around at everyone then, seeing everyone staring at him. It was a little unnerving but the fire in his belly at the thought of what the people that he knew, the kids his own age were possibly going through right then, while he was safe, pushed it aside.

“We have some of the best minds in the country right here,” he continued. “Not to mention that we know the castle inside and out. We’re going to come up with a plan. A plan to rescue everyone there. And then we’re going to do what we need to do to make it so that we can finally deal with Riddle once and for all.

“The Ministry may have given in. But we haven’t! And we never will!”

His impassioned speech brought smiles to some faces, expressions of fierce determination on others and even a feral grin to one or two. But one thing that all had in common, was the great cheer that erupted from the adults and students alike.

Harry looked around at them all, Hermione’s hand locked in his, Fawkes the phoenix still perched on his shoulder crooning a magical uplifting song that wove around the crowd, and he couldn’t help but feel their victory in his bones already. Now it was simply a case of coming up with the plan to make it all happen.

_Look out, Riddle, we’re coming for **you**_ , he thought ferally.


End file.
